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BY 

CARLTON MCCARTHY, 

Author "Soldier Life," A. N. Va. 


PRICE : 

To the Personal Friends of the Author, $1.00. 
To the Public generally, 50 cents. 






















































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OUR 


DISTINGUISHED 

FELLOW-CITIZEN. 



carlton McCarthy, 

Author Soldier Life A. N. Va. 


3 




“T/ie great are great only because we are on our knees. Let 
us rise !” — Prcd’homme. 



^SHi 

rich; 

L. Hill Printing Company. 
1890. 



.1 




Copyright, 1889, 

BY 

carlton McCarthy. 




THIS VOLUME 


IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED TO ALL WHO ARE DOOMED TO LIVE, AND 
TO DIE, WITHOUT BEING AT ALL DISTINGUISHED, AND 
WHO DO NOT PROPOSE TO BE DIS- 


TRESSED ABOUT IT 


PREFACE. 


The labor expended in the preparation of this 
story has so exhausted the resources of the author 
that he finds himself unable to undertake, with any 
hope of success, the more arduous work of writing 
an apology for it. The probabilities are that those 
who are pleased with it will prepare their own 
apologies, and that those who are not pleased would 
not accept the very best apology the author could 
make. Those who treat the story with indifference, 
or with contempt, are, of course, not entitled to any 
consideration from the sensitive author. 































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Our Distinguished Fellow-Citizeh. 


CHAPTER I. 

SCHNEY. 

In the cellar of a great wholesale grocery estab- 
lishment where hogsheads of sugar and molasses 
were so numerous that all sense of their size was 
lost, and where the light of day, hurt at the small 
provision made for its entrance, would hardly go, 
Schney, clad in thick and everlasting garments, 
scraped away with a steel spade at the thick scale of 
molasses and dirt which had accumulated on the 
floor. When he had scraped together a few bushels 
of the obstinate material he carried it, in a huge 
iron vessel, to the elevator, to be hoisted out and 
carted away. 

Mr. Schney was known to all the house, from the 
principal of it down to the oflice boy, as simply 
“ Schney.” Nobody there knew whether he was 
married or single, where he came from, what his 
past had been or his future would be; and nobody 
cared a copper. Schney himself knew only where 


8 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

he came from, and that he had a wife and children. 
His life was spent in the cellar with the hogsheads, 
and the man seemed to fit the place. Schney ’s 
advantages had been limited and peculiar, and he 
had made the most of them. He was not required 
by the circle in which he moved to dress well or 
live decently, and so he did neither. His pay was 
sufficient to supply all his wants. In fact, Schney 
saved money constantly, and as constantly lost 
almost everything else which makes life endurable. 
He was such a man that money was his only hope. 
His wisdom consisted of the knowledge of the fact 
that he was grossly ignorant and almost without 
what is commonly called natural ability. As he 
slowly accumulated money he strove to make plans 
for the future, but had never been able to do much 
more than resolve to keep what he had and save 
more if possible. These are simple ideas, it is true, 
but they constitute the foundation of many princely 
fortunes. 

One day Schney suddenly realized the fact that 
he had some hundreds of dollars in bank, and it 
‘was to him a dimly pleasant idea. It is true that 
ten years of toil had been necessary to produce this 
store; but of this he did not think. His wife had 
been for ten years a servant of all work and his 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 9 

children dirty brats. But Schney was not the man 
to be distressed by things like these. He was so 
thoroughly coarse that he escaped nearly all the 
exquisite pains of a higher nature, and groaned only 
when pain racked his flesh and hones. And yet at 
this point in his career Schney was a comparatively 
decent man. At any rate he had not learned to 
make lying pay or meanness profitable. When he 
was mean or when he lied it was for the fun of the 
thing or because it was perfectly natural. He was 
a thief, in a small way, stealing occasionally some 
sugar or some molasses, but he never felt any loss 
of self-respect or any pain of conscience on that 
account, because, in fact, he had no self-respect of 
any appreciable quantity and no conscience suffi- 
ciently developed to suffer. But, strange to say, 
Schney did have a sort of ambition, and was both 
conceited and avaricious. And so it happened that 
while the steel spade, driven by his brawny arms, 
scraped the floor of the cellar, Mr. Schney longed 
for his idea of a better life. Not that he wanted 
rest, or time for thought, or even clean comfort, but 
the grandeur of a rather, more independent style of 
life. Schney began to want to be his own “ boss,” 
with a business of his own, and to wear a white 
shirt and a beaver; have Sunday clothes, and be, as 


10 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

it were, a gentleman. He resolved that it should 
he so. 

When the labor of the day was ended Schney 
reported at the office window, hat in hand, for leave 
to go. The junior clerk, in the same condescend- 
ing tone which he had used for several years, gave 
a gracious consent, and the porter of the great 
house walked slowly homeward. When he reached 
his home he had been transformed by a decision 
and a resolve destined to change the current of his 
life. 

That very night Mrs. Schney was informed that 
henceforth the direction of their family was to be 
upward and onward; that her husband, so long the 
slave of circumstances, was now about to break 
away from this most unreasonable restraint, and, 
though he did not so express it, tread the ascending 
scale. His wife had suffered long, without any hope 
but that which sustains mothers when they look 
upon their children. If a man but dares to hope, 
his wife instantly believes. 

As in America there are no fixed degrees in the 
social scale, and no heights to which anything 
human may not aspire, there can be no pretenders. 
A man is what he is or what he becomes. The fact 
is the law, needs no precedent and fixes no prin- 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 11 

ciple. When, therefore, Mr. Schney determined to 
rise, there was nothing to oppose his progress. He 
was already prepared by the past to endure without 
pain a life which would be torture to a man de- 
scending to it. He was rising, and had already 
learned that decision is both comfort and power. 
He felt even now that he was no longer a servant, 
but a man. When he presented himself at bank 
and asked for his cash he was for the first time in 
his life treated with deference. It was an inspira- 
tion. From that moment his small ambition and 
his well-developed avarice grew side by side like 
twin plants, and his conceit, like another weed, 
grew rapidly. When the cashier shook his hand 
cordially and asked him to continue his very valu- 
able account, as a sort of compliment to the bank, 
he planted enough vanity in the new customer to 
ruin him forever if he had been an ordinary man. 
But Schney was an extraordinary man, and the load 
of vanity he carried away only served to equip him 
for the voyage of life. 

Mr. Schney had never formulated the idea, but 
was nevertheless guided by that famous maxim that 
it is well to begin at the bottom; and who so well 
adapted to practice that theory as he, being then as 
near the bottom as a passive man ever gets ? Any 


12 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

move he might make would surely put him at the 
approved starting point. Being low, ignorant, and 
unskilful even in crime, his only chance for success 
in independent conflict with the world was neces- 
sarily to come from a struggle with some element 
baser or weaker than himself. And so with shrewd- 
ness and modesty he selected the simplest form of 
business and located it in the midst of ignorance 
and vice, where the victims were numerous and 
willing, and where success seemed not merely possi- 
ble, but almost certain, for a man even as stupid as 
he knew himself to be. 

There was great rejoicing when the family moved 
to the new place, and the poor wife’s heart beat 
with a new sense of happiness when she saw over 
the door, in beautiful golden letters, the name of 
Conrad Schney! Over the store were lovely rooms, 
as white as the plasterer’s art could make them ; a 
room for the wife and a room for their daughter, 
Mina, and a room for the boys — and yet another 
room, henceforth to be the parlor. Back of the 
store, for convenience, the dining-room. Every- 
thing was arranged. 

At once the trade began and never slacked. 
From day to day, and indeed for nearly half the 
night, greasy coin and odorous paper money turn- 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 13 

bled into the money-box of Schney, and as con- 
stantly a stream of stupefied and diseased negroes 
and besotted white men and women poured in and 
out of the busy place. The proprietor was at first 
astonished and then delighted at his success. He 
saw that his future was assured, and at once gave 
himself without reserve to the prosecution of his 
business. It never occurred to him that he was 
doing anything disreputable or mean. On the other 
hand, he was greatly pleased with himself and his 
business, regarding himself as an enterprising and 
successful merchant, and would have been greatly 
surprised if some rare honest man had told him the 
truth about himself. It would not have saved him, 
however, because Schney was already clothed in 
that impenetrable armor which all men wear who 
have determined, for a purpose, to abase them- 
selves. Mr. Schney was ignorantly, but yet exactly, 
imitating some brilliant examples. 

At the end of a month Schney again appeared at 
bank as a depositor. He had some vague fears 
about the safety of the institution, and could not rid 
himself of the idea that as the bank was organized 
by shrewd men solely for the purpose of making 
money, it might by some means “make” some of 
his money. He knew how indifferent he was him- 


14 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

self about the mode, and was afraid that the bank, 
inspired by the same purpose, might be equally 
as unscrupulous. Such men like to see the man 
highest in authority. So the anxious depositor was 
led into the solemn quiet of the president’s room, 
where he was received with soft graciousness, and 
had his idle fears removed to that extent that he 
became once more a depositor. 

The president knew the sensitiveness of capital, 
and especially small capital, having passed through 
the agonies of acquisition, and though he had never 
been as mean as Schney — certainly not mean in the 
same way — he had sacrificed the best years of his life 
to the same ambition which now moved his new 
customer. He wondered when Schney was gone 
that he had been able to receive him so cordially and 
treat him so respectfully, knowing all the time what 
a wretched character he was, and remembering 
how often he had been obliged to treat far better men 
and even old personal friends with safe distance. 
But the puzzle was soon explained. The president 
excused and justified himself by the simple plea 
that he was there for business; that getting deposits 
was business; that a man with money to deposit 
ought to have recognition and deference, and that, 
however shameful it might be from any other 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 15 

standpoint, from a business standpoint Schney was 
entitled to polite consideration as a successful man 
and promising customer of the bank. On the other 
hand, the president felt that it was his duty to 
guard the bank against many well-meaning and 
respectable people who, not being so utterly lost to 
principle or so enterprising as Schney, would prob- 
ably never do as well. The great burden of the 
president’s life was an ever present dread that some 
man admirable in every other way, but as yet a 
little weak financially, would drop in on him and 
ask a favor with a risk attached. His ideal com- 
munity would never be realized until all the people 
learned to make, save, and deposit, and borrow only 
on collaterals. 

A man cannot be a good bank president without 
letting go some parts of himself for which he will 
sigh and sigh in vain as the end approaches, nor 
without accumulating some traits which will mys- 
teriously and persistently separate him from his 
fellow-men. It appears that every man must choose 
his part, there being a limit to what each may have. 
Men imagine that they add constantly to their pos- 
sessions, while, in fact, the new acquirements simply 
crowd out the older and many times the sweeter 
treasures; and a being who was in early life fur- 


16 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

nished bountifully by the Master with the neces- 
saries of a happy and a healthy life, fills himself 
with husks and dies among the swine. 

Schney’s credit was soon established not only in 
the bank, but everywhere. Men who would have 
blushed to put the thought into words trusted him 
cheerfully, because they knew that a man who had 
gone down into the depths as he had would make 
money and pay promptly. Prompt pay hideth a 
multitude of sins. 

Schney loved neither virtue nor vice. He studied 
in his dull way the capacity of each to produce 
money, and learned that for rude hands like his 
vice was the best tool. He flattered his most aban- 
doned customers, and encouraged them in any- 
thing wicked which yielded them pleasure and 
brought him profit. He could see that the de- 
bauchery must be a source of profit to somebody, 
and taking a simple business view of the matter, 
made haste to monopolize all the material within 
his reach. Business is business always, and some- 
times crime. 

Against the advice of his wife Schney added a 
room and a few tables for convenient gambling, and 
made extensive and costly improvements about his 
place. If ever there was a thoroughly complacent 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 17 

and hopeful man, Schney was. What more could 
a man wish who could see his business prospering, 
and who knew that the basest and strongest pas- 
sions of human nature and all the powers of evil 
were pledged for his success. Schney knew all this, 
and acted upon it, but he would never have dreamed 
of expressing it exactly so. 


CHAPTER H. 

Mina. 

For a long time Mrs. Schney was forced to be 
near the business, and to know much of its vile 
associations. Though her nature revolted, she sub- 
mitted like a good wife, and was silent. At last her 
patience was rewarded, and she received her free- 
dom. “ Pauline,” said Schney, “ I have a man 
hired for the bar, and now you will take care of the 
house and children.” 

It was a proud day — a man in his employment ! 
So now the wife drifted away from the business, 
and saw it only in its results: servants, handsome 
dresses, better furniture, more rest, and even some 
leisure. Her husband seemed to be happy, though 
rude and overbearing, and, all things considered, 
and in contrast with the past, was generous, and 
even indulgent. One creditable thing he did in 
keeping Mina away from the low frequenters of 
his bar and store. He loved the girl, and had good 
reason to be proud of her beauty and intelligence 
and amiability. He had no idea that she would 
ever be useful to him or ever necessary to the suc- 
cess of his plans. 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 19 

At the public school Mina saw other girls who 
seemed poorer than herself, and not so well dressed, 
who had some mysterious charm of manner and of 
voice which she could not assume or imitate. At 
times it seemed to he only pride or vanity; hut 
their kindness and courtesy contradicted that 
thought. She longed to he like those girls with 
the mysterious, quiet air, and confessed to her 
mother that there was something about them 
which made her dissatisfied with herself. Her 
mother comforted her with the assurance that if 
she would he patient she would yet learn the secret 
and be the equal of her schoolmates. 

The mother had already learned that a man rises 
in the social scale more readily than a woman, 
though the woman be his wife or his daughter. 
She saw her husband was on good terms with men 
whose wives would never recognize her or ever 
forget the porter’s wife. The poor woman, being 
greatly superior to her husband, was keenly sensi- 
tive where he was utterly indifferent. She cheered 
and encouraged her daughter, and smilingly pre- 
dicted a happy future for her, but recognized the 
difficulties which would meet her in the way, and 
would be made even greater and more dangerous 
by the rapid rise of her father. The wife and 


20 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

mother questioned in her heart the desirability of 
their surprising good fortune. She did many weary 
hours of thinking which the wizards of the pen 
would have been glad to seize and fasten to paper 
and place to their own credit. She is a base 
woman, indeed, whose thoughts do not take on 
beauty when her children are the theme. Mothers 
are now the only workers of miracles. 

Every day Mina went to school, and three times 
a week she had a music lesson from a famous 
paralytic professor, who laid at full length on his 
bed and made angelic music on the guitar. He 
trained her head and her fingers and her voice for 
the pay he received, and because he was kind he 
taught her a graceful carriage, a proper accent, 
some rules of etiquette, and some rudiments of 
dancing. Whenever she left him he would say, 
“ What eyes ! what eyes ! ” 

Of course this chance to rise out of her surround- 
ings came from her mother, and had only the 
consent of her father. Mrs. Schney had an inner 
guide which served her well through all her days 
of deep poverty, and was now leading her with 
wonderful wisdom through all the novel experiences 
of sudden prosperity. She recalled daily the patient 
example of her mother, whom she remembered as 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 21 

a silver-haired old lady, with a soft, round face, and 
a gentle, pathetic voice, who was always scrupu- 
lously neat and never idle — Pauline Boom, the 
baker’s widow and successor to his business. She 
remembered the little shop over which her mother 
presided, and how respectful were all the customers 
who came to buy. Though hut a little thing when 
her mother died, she had seen that there was in her 
something which prevailed over her poverty and 
which commanded the respect of all her neighbors, 
rich and poor. Then she recalled her mother’s 
hatred of dirt and squalor, and her heroic tight with 
all the downward tendencies of poverty. All the 
motherly counsel of her own childhood came hack 
in .misty fragments, and with patient effort she 
reshaped it all, beautified it with her own added 
love, and pressed it upon her daughter. And so 
the old woman, who had been good and true and 
brave, but who had not been spared to guide her 
own child, was laying hold of the grandchild and 
shaping her character and destiny. 

The odds were against the girl. The mother, 
though ready to make any sacrifice for her, was 
compelled to submit passively to the slightest whim 
of the father, whose desire for independence and 
freedom from toil had now become insatiable greed 


22 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

for money and furious and impatient desire for 
recognition as a man of energy and business sense. 
As is too often the case with far better men, Schney 
was all smiles and good humor to his customers 
and the public, but absent, irritable, and unreason- 
able with his family. He had a secret fear that his 
wife would never concede his greatness, and that 
she would measure him always by a standard rather 
different from that which the public would apply. 
He would have complained of Mina’s advantages, 
and would probably have put an end to them, but 
for the fact that he imagined himself rapidly rising 
in favor with the world, and therefore without 
occasion for envy. Mina, he thought, would be 
pretty and accomplished, but her father would be 
rich. Having thus made himself comfortable, he 
allowed the mother to go on with her plans. 

While the father with feverish energy pushed 
his trade, and in the foul atmosphere of his place 
laughed and joked with his polluted customers and 
victims, the mother, seated in the quiet of a cham- 
ber as neat as toil could make it, strove to weave 
about her children a strong defense against the 
future. Mina, though she did not know why, felt 
that her mother was her only and indispensable 
friend, and was never dissatisfied when gazing into 



MINA AND HER INDISPENSABLE FRIEND. 
























































































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OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 23 

her face, and listening to the magic tones of her 
voice. She loved her father, too, and was always 
ready to give him the sweetest evidence of it, but 
he could not, being the man he was, give her in 
return anything which was fully the love she craved. 
And here were the first fruits of the determined, 
and so far successful, effort of a man to rise by 
throwing aside the burden of principle : A silenced 
wife and a daughter studying the mystery of her 
unwilling estrangement from her father. 

Mina welcomed the return of music day, and 
went gladly to the chamber of the old professor, 
where she had always a hearty welcome. The old 
man complimented her in French or Italian or 
German, as the fancy struck him or the language 
seemed most impressive, and loved her more and 
more. Then he loaned her his choicest books, and 
by adroit conversation induced her to read. Some- 
times she met at his bedside well-educated men, 
friends of the professor, who had travelled in for- 
eign lands, whose conversation revealed to her the 
extent and variety of the world and of life, and 
created in her the hope that change of some sort 
and new forms of happiness would soon be hers. 

At home, resting her head on her mother’s knee, 
she told with childish satisfaction all she had heard, 


24 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

and described all the people she had met. Her 
mother listened, and though some of the things so 
new and inspiring to the child were old memories 
to her, she never tired of the dreamy talk or the 
eager hopes it betrayed. 

Sometimes the mother feared it might be treason 
to Conrad to let her aspirations loose, and worse 
than treason to train his daughter for a life which j 
he could never share. She did not know that he \ 
had his reward, and that he would never feel, much 
less charge to any one, the defection. In fact, his 
life was already revolutionized so completely that 
the simple comforts which had formerly satisfied 
him so that he scarcely had a wish beyond them 
were now merely distasteful interruptions to the 
continuous excitement of gain. His daughter 
pleased and interested him, but was more a part 
of his future glory than of his present comfort. 

Mina innocently compared herself with the people 
who lived immediately about her own home, and 
with those who frequented her father’s place, and f 
wondered why their poverty and degradation should 
be so great while her father’s family lived in ease 
and enjoyed abundantly the comforts of life. In a 
dim way she felt that possibly her father ought to 
live elsewhere, but never suspected that they were 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 25 

located by his deliberate choice. Having seen but 
a single point of the better life outside of her circle, 
and being familiar with the scenes about her, she 
did not feel very sharply, nor was she moved to the 
point of remonstrance, but only pondered the mat- 
ter. Music, and occasional contact with the outside 
world at the Professor’s home, and what she saw 
and felt and appropriated at school, rather than 
what she learned there, had stimulated inquiry and 
comparisons, and had, moreover, forever destroyed 
that happy illusion that there is no place like home. 
She had never seen the homes of the rich, and had 
no clear conception of what they might be; but, 
seeing and feeling the charm of the manner of 
those she had met, and noticing that they always 
dwelt upon the pleasures of life rather than the 
grinding demands of it, which was the theme at her 
home, she imagined, poor thing, that they were 
happy always, and that their homes must be not 
only beautiful, but scenes of continuous affection 
and peace. 

Schney was doing, for want of sense, what many 
others do and call it wise. He was preparing his 
child to despise him and to pity her mother. It 
may be, possibly is, an incalculable advantage to 
the State and the people at large to have all the 


26 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

people lifted out of ignorance, but the first decade 
of universal education in any land must produce a 
youthful community whose first assertion of self 
and of superiority will include shame at the men- 
tion of their parents and contempt for all recorded 
wisdom. A man who despises his mother will 
steal. A girl who despises her father and pities her 
mother’s ignorance may be saved. But what must 
be the anguish of a mother when she sees the glit- 
ter of contempt in the eyes of her daughter? The 
people of England have had some experience of life. 
They discourage rapid transition from one condition 
in life to a higher or even better one. They estab- 
lish levels of existence and populate them with as- 
sorted masses who tread the level, father and son, 
for generations in peace and contentment. In rare 
cases exceptional qualities shoot a man or woman 
from a lower to a higher plane; sometimes to an 
eminence. But the rule is life on a level. 

America has experimented for a century with the 
opposite extreme, and has as a result millions of 
common-place people, who never stop to ascertain 
their present worth, or even to cleanse themselves, 
but ask, with breathless impatience, from day to 
day: “What shall I be?” And so the poor 
struggle and die; the rich envy the great, and are 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 27 

miserable; the great are belittled, and rush out 
of life followed by shouts of derision and volumes 
of calumny. No man dares to rest or be contented. 
The universal demand is that every man must 
better his condition. The man who is in repose is 
a burden; a contented man an imbecile. Men with 
millions of money apply their whole stock of nerve- 
power to the acquirement of more money, and 
actually starve to death. Others drop dead — sui- 
cides. The decree has gone forth that no man shall 
rest. Contentment is branded as un-American. 
Enterprise, grown to monster size, feeds insatiably 
on every other virtue. He who was once the slave 
of his master has a nation of wild men to drive 
him and scourge him with restless and merciless 
opinions out of his lazy content into a life and a 
strife which must fill him with new and strange 
suffering, and make him soon the most pathetic 
object on earth. 

If men, who seem to be the chief victims of the 
new civilization, were the only victims, Heaven 
might spare the nation; but Mina and her mother, 
once the serene girl, Pauline Boom, are entangled 
in the life of the husband and father, and will not 
escape without a burden of memories which will 
present themselves unbidden and^ mingle [persist- 


28 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

ently with thoughts entitled ordinarily to select 
company and safety from intruders. Unfortunately, 
when men and women rise to exclusiveness and bar 
the door to repulsive and unwelcome people, their 
past lives, secreted within, ramble about the house 
and grin and chatter, and even step out and join the 
dance and play familiar with the guests — a sort of 
licensed ghosts. 


CHAPTER III. 

A Suspicion. 

Sunday was Schney’s gala day. He went regu- 
larly to church in the morning, and afterwards 
walked from place to place receiving the congratu- 
lations and the admiration of less fortunate people. 
He congratulated himself on the shrewdness he had 
displayed in the selection of a business, and often 
wondered why more people had not followed his 
example. He felt constantly that he had made a 
wonderful escape from poverty, and that it was sim- 
ple stupidity and lack of enterprise on the part of 
others which gave him the field. Consequently he 
was careful to speak in a rather depreciatory man- 
ner of his prospects, and quite modestly, with a 
humorous suggestion to the contrary, of his gains. 
He bore with him, as it were, the great secret of 
success. 

Mr. Schney was therefore greatly chagrined 
when, on stepping out one bright Sunday morn- 
ing, he found both the front and side door of his 
place sealed and guarded, and the rear door in 
charge of a policeman, who treated his anxious 
inquiries with great indifference. His move to- 


30 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

ward the door with the intention of entering it was 
promptly checked, and for once in his life he felt 
that he had suffered an indignity. During the day, 
by persistent inquiry, he gathered the facts, and 
finally went home. His wife and daughter, already 
informed by the gossips of the neighborhood, had 
abandoned the house, leaving a note to the effect 
that they had fled to the shelter of Professor Snufi’s 
house. Schney was too much alarmed to follow 
them, and yet miserable and lonely. He was tor- 
tured by conflicting desires to stay and guard his 
premises, to go and look after his wife and daugh- 
ter, and to escape from the fearful thoughts which 
the place engendered. The police, he thought, 
were unusually calm and indifferent. He knew all 
the facts as far as ascertained, and fairly writhed 
with forebodings sitting all alone in his chamber. 

The night before a woman, abandoned and for- 
saken by humanity in general, lay dying, attended 
by a physician who at this crisis was her only 
friend. Only a man inspired, as some physicians 
are, with superhuman pity, could feel the awful- 
misery of a wretch who died and could not frame 
or imagine an apology for her life, and who 
accepted without remonstrance the most cruel fate 
Omnipotence even could impose on flesh and blood. 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 31 

Counting heaven and earth, she had two friends to 
hear and pity her — the doctor on earth, and in 
heaven the sinner’s Friend. These two attend all 
who die, whether king, emperor, or pauper, and are 
partners. They are always in place to be leaned 
upon. 

The physician sat in the disordered, shabby room, 
almost in darkness, gazing upon the poor disfigured 
face, and listening to the muttered ravings of his 
patient. At last he found that she repeated con- 
stantly and with wonderful accuracy of detail the 
same story. With all his skill on the watch, with a 
vast experience behind it, he could not decide 
whether the story was a revelation of fact or the 
mere phantasies of a dying brain. lie immediately 
sent for a magistrate, who came at once, bringing 
with him the chief of police. 

The trio concluded that the narrative was too 
explicit and realistic to proceed from a disordered 
brain, and as they strove by questioning to extract 
every detail the patient seemed to be more and 
more rational. They noted carefully the whole 
story. 

The woman had been a frequenter of Schney’s 
place, and was evidently familiar with the worst 
characters who assembled there. She had witnessed 


32 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

many violent scenes, and had more than once been 
cruelly beaten and thrust into the street, more dead 
than alive. She described minutely the appearance 
of a stranger who entered the place at midnight, 
and asked for information of a kind which betrayed 
his ignorance of the city and of the place he had 
entered. He was invited into the back room on 
some pretense, and detained there by some of 
Schney’s friends until they had a conference. Very 
soon he became visibly uneasy and restless, and 
with an awkward apology rose to go. At that 
instant he received a blow on the back of his head, 
and fell, without a word or a groan, dead on the 
floor. She could not say who struck the blow. 
The bar was overturned, a pit dug under the floor, 
and the body buried. Everything was arranged as 
before, and all departed, she being warned that her 
life depended on her silence. Here the story ended. 

The chief of police hurried away, and by day- 
break the ominous seals were on the doors and the 
officers on guard. Idlers surrounded the house and 
gazed with tireless interest at the sealed doors and 
the serene policemen. Within could be heard the 
rumble of moving furniture, the ripping and split- 
ting of planks, and steady strokes of pick and 
shovel. The evening came, and darkness, hut still 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 33 

the work went on, the gas-jets within the bar blaz- 
ing, and the small openings in the blinds allowing 
occasional glimpses of the workmen and partial 
views of glass and silverware. One lewd picture 
stood out prominently under the brilliant light, and 
mocked, with painted smiles, the ghastly scene. 

Schney remained in his room all through the 
weary day, and, despite the presence of his hoys 
and their brave efforts to cheer and comfort him, 
felt that his business was ruined. When night came 
on his fears increased. He made determined efforts 
to exclude the horrors of the day from his thoughts, 
and to plan his future, but failed. At last he con- 
fessed that he was helpless and afraid, and made his 
boys come into his room, and sleep there. In the 
morning he consulted the boys about everything, 
and was happy when they decided for him. He ate 
his breakfast with some effort, and it was plain he 
tasted nothing. Afterwards he smoked and waited. 

About midday the chief of police called for 
Schney, and made him happy in a moment. With 
a cheerful and rather jovial air he said: “Well, 
Schney, it was all a lie. The woman must have 
been crazy. We dug a well, almost, under your 
place, and not a bone or a rag can we find. Go 
down and open your shop, and don’t bother about 


34 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

it any more. You are all right now, old fellow. 
Good-bye ! ” 

“Good-bye! I thank you very much / 5 said 
Schney.” “Come and have something?” 

“Hot on this particular occasion,” said the chief, 
with a compound smile, as he turned and walked 
away, whistling softly, and absorbed in a matter not 
in the remotest sense connected with the events of 
that day. 

Schney was greatly relieved. He expected to re- 
sume business at once, and, though in a rather 
dejected way, he commenced to rearrange his place 
of business, but by bed-time his courage had for- 
saken him. The absence of his wife and daughter, 
and their evident determination not to return, de- 
pressed him and made him astonishingly susceptible 
to the disgraceful insinuations and suspicious in- 
quisitiveness of the heartless wretches who were on 
the most familiar terms with him. 

He closed his place with a sense of relief, and 
went directly to consult his wife and daughter. His 
wife met him with passionate sobs and an affection 
free from suspicion. Mina with one kiss extracted 
the pain from his heart. He announced his resolve 
to move his business to a better place and to pro- 
vide a home elsewhere for his family. 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 


35 


The next day he sold out. The papers all de- 
clared him innocent, and deplored the strange con- 
duct of the dying woman and the consequent unjust 
suspicion of Schney. After a few days the man who 
was supposed to be dead, and who had been miss- 
ing, reappeared, explained his absence, and joined 
the multitude who were inquiring into the mys- 
terious cause of the dying woman’s statement. 
Schney once more assumed a business air. 



ENTERPRISE. 



CHAPTER IV. 

Enterprise. 

A man relieved of a burden straightens himself 
and immediately forgets how he groaned under the 
load. Torn by force from the old surroundings 
which had seemed so securely fixed, Schney’s pain 
would have been great but for the presence of awful 
fears. "When these were relieved he found that he 
was not, after all, ruined, and was possibly benefited. 
There was at least time to look about, and a chance 
for new ventures, with possibly greater success. 

The return of his wife and daughter, Sehney felt, 
was a pre-requisite to any further plans for life, and 
this decided him to please and astonish his wife by 
revealing to her a fact which he had sedulously kept 
from her knowledge. 

“Pauline,” he said, “do you remember the house 
where the people lived named Braxton?” It is 
mine ! ” 

“Why, papa,” exclaimed his wife, “you are now 
only dreaming. That fine yard, with trees and 
flowers, and such a house, is worth a fortune.” 

“So,” replied Conrad, “but I have it paid for 


38 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

already, and you and Mina must come home to that 
place, in which is now all the furniture and many 
other things.” 

Mina was sure that all this joyful news had been 
foreshadowed by the hopeful words of her mother. 

The house was once the abode of a man of means, 
who had built it with more regard to comfort than 
show, but had made it beautiful on the interior with 
the carving and metal work of half a century ago. 
It was in its day a notable home, but had long since 
been abandoned on account of its unfortunate loca- 
tion. The neighborhood had fallen into bad repute, 
values had steadily declined, and Schney became its 
owner for an amount scarcely equal to the original 
cost of the wood-work of the main staircase and 
carved mantels. Old trees swung their huge arms 
around the eaves, and as they rolled and turned in 
the wind seemed to wring their hands over the 
changes they had witnessed. Flowers bloomed in 
the yard as much out of date as knee pants or 
cocked hats, their names even unknown to the 
modern passer-by. Shrubbery grew in profusion, 
and gave forth strange, old-fashioned odors, which, 
drifting into the nostrils of any decrepit old lin- 
gerer in the town, transported him at once to the 
gay scenes of his youth, and recalled the rosy cheeks 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 39 

of the sweetheart and wife mouldered into dust a 
quarter of a century ago. 

Schney and his family were no sooner fixed than 
they had the pleasure of enjoying the respect of the 
neighbors, which was plainly to be seen, without 
feeling at all the envy which was concealed. This 
purchase, and a few timely suggestions from an 
energetic real estate man, called the attention of the 
new owner to the possibilities of judicious invest- 
ments in that line, and he resolved that in the 
future he would not allow a bargain to escape him 
without a reasonable effort to capture it. 

A long-neglected corner, around which a stream 
of people constantly flowed, now became the scene 
of action. It was evident to every observant man 
who passed that capital had seized upon the spot, 
and was enamored of it. Brick-masons knocked 
the front into a pile of ruins, and replaced it with 
the airy and graceful work of the iron-founder and 
glazier; cunning workmen touched every point on 
the inside with skill and taste; fountains of water 
gushed out wherever wanted, and light streamed 
over all; birds sung in gilded cages; rare plants 
bloomed everywhere, and light-hearted customers 
came and went. The place was complete in all its 
appointments. Schney, his features somewhat re- 


40 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

fined by responsibility and thought, more subdued 
in manner and more dignified, presided. He was 
sober, indisposed to light conversation, attentive to 
every detail. He realized that he was in the front 
rank of the trade. It may not be easy to account 
for or describe, but every one knows that pros- 
perous people soon possess a sort of surface refine- 
ment which not only affects their carriage with 
confidence and ease of manner, but slowly and by 
some mysterious means effaces physical blemishes 
and tones up the countenance. Schney was by this 
time a man of rather unassuming manners, quietly 
but richly dressed — not unwilling to be considered 
influential, and decidedly interested in public affairs. 
His friends were numerous and influential, and 
many of them were practically his property. Men 
once distinguished for learning and ability, dragged 
by vice from their exalted positions, flattered him 
and patronized him, and imagined that Schney, 
overpowered by their dignity and importance, 
would never press his bills. Schney understood 
the scheme perfectly, and in turn knew that the 
unpaid bills and the slowly accomplished familiarity 
of his great customers would eventually yield him a 
harvest amply remunerative. His great card in a 
social way was a man of fine appearance — once a 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 41 

lawyer of acknowledged ability — called by courtesy 
u the Judge/’ but now reduced by bis habits to 
poverty and mental wreck. It was a queer sight to 
see this pair of worthies fencing. Each imagined 
the other in his power. One vain of dignities long 
since and forever passed away, and the other sniff- 
ing the aroma of distant but approaching honors. 

“ Well, Conrad, how are you?” the Judge would 
say. “How is your good wife and Mina? Well, I 
hope?” 

“Ah, Judge, come in, come in; have a seat, 
please, and — Charlie! bring some ice and Apolli- 
naris to the Judge, quick, please — what will you 
have with me? It is my treat — no, no, you shall 
not pay; old friends, ha, ha, ha! Quite well, all at 
my house; and Mina! why, you should see that 
little girl. Take a cigar, and here is a light. So! ” 

By this time the Judge is quite settled. His 
countenance wears an expression as varied as any 
landscape. Benevolent condescension, modest ap- 
preciation of the elegance and comfort of his sur- 
roundings, conscious dignity, and slight reserve, all 
play over his rather damaged countenance. 

“Schney, you rascal,” says the Judge, now with 
a painful effort to be playful, “you have a fine place 
and you are doing well. I am glad to see it — glad 


42 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

to — see it. I wish you well, my man ; indeed I do ! 
Thank you, that will do ; but a little water, please. 
Ah! ha, ha! ahum!” 

“Yes; but I have a large expense to keep up, 
Judge — a large expense. And taxes are quite im- 
mense enough to drive a man out of such a busi- 
ness. I am working always for the city govern- 
ment,” said Schney, “and have now not much saved 
by a lifetime. Have a light.” 

“It is true,” the Judge replied, “our taxes are 
enormous. We need good practical business men 
in the Council. You are an intelligent, wide-awake 
man, and you have property. Why not run ? ” 

“Do you think so — that I have some chance to 
come in with those fellows?” 

“ By all (hie) means ; why, certainly, friend Con- 
rad. I should welcome you to public (hie) life with 
pleasure; why, yes!” 

Schney threw an admiring glance at the Judge, 
and was about to enter into a more confidential chat, 
when a firm triend of his came briskly in, exclaim- 
ing: 

“Ho! Conrad, my boy, and Judge, I salute you! 
A pocket full of items, but still needy, gentlemen. 
Charlie, a schooner for me and whiskey for the 
Judge! Have you heard the latest? Filter dropped 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 43 

dead an hour ago, and all the pious snobs declare it 
was whiskey that killed him.” 

“What nonzens,” answered Schney; it must be 
a heart disease, or some such thing.” 

“Why, certainly,” said the reporter. “What 
kills the pious people — do they live any longer? I 
will have a good local to-morrow, anyway. I am 
sure of that, at least.” 

“A good liquor will not hurt a man,” said 
Schney. 

“And my good friend here keeps no other. Gen- 
tlemen, good evening. Conrad, my regards to 
Madame.” And so saying, Judge Dragg walked 
slowly out, his gait suggesting the idea that he wore 
rubber cushions or feather pillows under his shoes; 
a soft, slow step, betraying uncertainty as to the 
exact moment when his feet touched the floor; a 
sad, aimless movement, made all the more pitiable 
by fragments of the old dignity which dangled 
about him like dead leaves awaiting the next blast 
of winter. 

Next came a troop of handsome boys, all the 
bravery of evening dress hidden under huge spring 
overcoats, homeward bound. Oysters, beer, cigars — 
a merry laugh — the ring of silver coin upon the 
marble counter — voices dying away in the distance. 


44 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

“And so Filter is dead,” said Schney, approach- 
ing the reporter. 

“Yes, dead as the devil! You have lost a cus- 
tomer, Conrad.” 

“ Of course, yes. I am glad I was always friendly 
to him, Mr. Bursting,” said Schney, and added with 
apathetic air, “I never could refuse that poor fellow 
a drink.” 

“He is an independent man now,” dryly re- 
marked the reporter. 

“ How so ? ” said Schney. 

But the reporter was too busy with his notes to 
answer, and Mr. Schney slipped quietly into a big 
easy chair and a reverie. 

* Only the scratch of the reporter’s pen, the singing 
of the gas-jets, and the occasional snapping of the 
arc light, until the melancholy tolling of a distant 
bell came stealing softly in with stately steps, an- 
nouncing, as though reluctantly, that the record of 
another day was now complete, and illustrating the 
ability of a cracked station-house bell and a sleepy 
policeman to produce very weird effects when aided 
by the necessary accessories of midnight and an 
uneasy conscience. 

Filter, coffined, lay peacefully in his little parlor, 
while a few of his intimates kept a silent watch in 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 45 

the adjoining room. Death was not in their line, 
and conversation was impossible. Their friend had 
indulged in a novelty which they could not appre- 
ciate or even discuss with any degree of satisfac- 
tion. He had gone off on a solitary expedition, and 
seemed for once to be really indifferent about his 
old chums. It seemed rather mean and awkward, 
but they all agreed that they would have to leave 
him in the hands of the preacher. Upstairs the 
widow wrestled with alternate grief and despair. 
Schney thought of these things. 

The reporter calmly wrote up his account of Fil- 
ter’s sudden death, and, feeling that he had done a 
neat piece of work, sprang from his seat and gaily 
departed. The double-hinged doors flapped rest- 
lessly in and out for a moment and then quietly 
closed. 

Schney walked thoughtfully homeward. The 
death of Filter insisted upon having his attention. 
He considered such a death as that rather undesira- 
ble, and to be avoided if possible. In fact, Mr. 
Schney concluded that death in any form was not a 
reasonable thing, and especially unreasonable and 
annoying to people like himself, busy and prosper- 
ous, and willing and anxious to live. It occurred to 
him that possibly, very probably, these people who 


46 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

die are not so anxious to live as they ought to he, 
or perhaps they would go on living as he did. He 
was unwilling to admit that people would die so 
constantly and with such apparent ease unless they 
were careless on the subject. When the thought 
struck him that possibly after all death was a com- 
pulsory affair, and that the time might be fixed and 
near, he sought to comfort and encourage himself 
by resolving that he would make it known at once 
that he was for long life and prosperity. Filter, he 
decided, must have been a great fool to die that 
way. 

And so, the world over, men who are deluged 
with blessings, and guarded on all sides from the 
countless ills of the multitude, gradually learn to 
flatter themselves, and console themselves with the 
thought that those who fall into disgrace and death, 
or live in humiliation and pain, are people more or 
less indifferent about life, and very careless about 
comfort. They walk serenely a flowery path, which 
in their wisdom they have chosen, and wonder that 
so many choose the rocky way and death over the 
precipice. They readily and even cheerfully agree 
that death may be a great relief to some people, and 
have no doubt that there is some mysterious charm 
in calamity and in anguish which draws weak 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 47 

people irresistibly. Preferring the happier modes 
of life, they wisely shun disagreeable things, and 
regret briefly and occasionally the wilful misery of 
the people about them. It annoys them. Some- 
times they become indignant at its persistence, and 
impatient at the thought that it hovers about their 
pathway, casting shadows and uttering doleful 
cries. As a last resort they harden their hearts. 

Schney, when he closed the door of his house 
behind him, and thus shut out the world, resolved 
that he would as effectually, if possible, shut out of 
his life every thought of yielding to death. If the 
choice of ease and a firm resolve to live would help 
matters at all, then he wanted it understood that 
Conrad Schney was no sentimental candidate for 
death, or believer in the imaginary content of pov- 
erty and obscurity. 


CHAPTER Y. 

A Municipal Campaign. 

Two men, whose dress and carriage gave instant 
proof of their position, walked side by side, engaged 
in earnest conversation. At short intervals they 
looked each other intently in the face, and em- 
phasized their words with smiles or frowns. Once, 
carried away by the importance and fervor of their 
talk, they halted, faced each other, reached a sat- 
isfactory understanding, and then, plunged in 
thought, resumed their walk in silence. They were 
good citizens, agitated and distressed at the political 
outlook, and resolved at any sacrifice of time and 
prejudice to strike for the welfare of the commu- 
nity. They were worthy representatives of the 
party in power, and that party — the only hope of the 
city — was in danger of complete overthrow. The 
better element of the city had a small and decreas- 
ing majority, now about to be destroyed by the defec- 
tion of hitherto loyal adherents, who imagined that 
their peculiar interests were about to be sacrificed 
for victory. The varied interests of the people were 
in collision and emitting heat at every point of con 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 49 

tact. Conciliation was demanded everywhere. At 
such a time every influence of sufficient extent to 
effect results must have recognition. It matters not 
if it is in itself what is commonly called an evil 
influence. The question is simply whether it car- 
ries with it votes, and holds them in a thraldom 
greater than the party feeling. Men who represent 
an interest are therefore to be recognized and 
valued, not so much with reference to personal 
worth as to their possible control of others. 

Schney’s house being in the centre of disaffection, 
and its owner a warm party man, had been selected 
as the place for a meeting of leaders called for the 
settlement of vexed questions and the conciliation of 
those whose alarm had turned to active rebellion. 
It was evident that the illiterate, the poor, the 
foreign element, and the vicious classes of the com- 
munity had by some means been convinced that the 
party of their allegiance was drifting away from 
sympathy with them, and lending itself too freely to 
the advancement of those whom fortune had favored 
already quite liberally. Such a condition of affairs 
called for an immediate cure. The party must he 
saved. Men, therefore, whose main reliance for 
support and whose only chance for aggrandizement 
rested upon party life and party success, were ready 


50 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

to make any concession which w T ould avert the 
threatened disaster. Others, who had no political 
aspirations, but yet felt the necessity for party suc- 
cess, left the matter in the hands of the active 
workers, and were willing to accept favorable re- 
sults without severe scrutiny of the means to the 
end. The indifference of the people disgusted the 
leaders, and the interminable turmoil and strife 
stirred up by the leaders exhausted the patience 
and the interest of the people. The liquor interest 
was on the alert, and ready to strike down any 
suspicious wanderer about the camp. It demanded 
the pass-word from all, and urged its friends to 
decorate themselves with its colors and bear them- 
selves bravely. Temperance men and fanatics de- 
nounced the liquor trade, and lovers of religious 
freedom defended it. Labor glared at Capital, and 
Capital buttoned itself up to the chin, and with lofty 
strides and puffed cheeks passed by unconscious of 
the rage it had stirred. 

The two men slowly making their way to 
Schney’s house were alike only in that they were 
politicians. Mr. Grit was a young lawyer with a 
good practice, learned and safe, betraying energy in 
every movement. He was quiet, cool, and quick. 
He believed in direct action and success at any cost. 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 


51 


His companion was a Mr. Estimate, who was 
gradually retiring from business and devoting more 
and more of his time to public affairs. Though 
comparatively a young man he wore a solemn as- 
pect, walked slowly along with bent head, and 
seemed either older or wiser than most men of his 
age. He thought much and deeply, was always 
willing to hear, and could remain silent without an 
effort. It was pretty generally understood that Mr. 
Estimate was a reliable man in a public emergency, 
and that when necessary he could use persuasion 
with irresistible effect. The two combined in an 
effort rendered success almost certain. 

As they neared the house Grit seemed to be a 
little reluctant, and finally said : 

“ See here, Estimate, that place is brilliantly 
lighted, and I see women at the widows. My visit 
here is strictly for business, and ” 

“ That is so,” replied Estimate, “but we must 
take things as we find them, and shape them up 
afterwards, if we can. If the new statesman is bent 
on an entertainment, we must turn it to some ac- 
count.” 

“ Dem it! ” said Grit. 

Estimate would wade through difficulties and suc- 
ceed where his legal friend would fail. He regarded 


52 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

the possibility of a supper and company as an an- 
noyance which demanded patience, but at the same 
time afforded a competent man innumerable oppor- 
tunities to advance his cause. 

Our friends were late. In the handsome parlor 
they found an interesting circle of gentlemen, repre- 
senting every creed, trade, business, profession, and 
secret order in the city, each impressed w T ith the 
idea that he was there to play some important part. 
Mr. Estimate, though apparently a guest, had aided 
the host in compiling the list of invitations. Schney 
introduced each comer to the company, and was un- 
usually happy and proud. At length he said, with 
with some embarrassment : 

“ Gentlemen, before we go to business, let us 
come to supper first.” 

At the words the heavy doors rolled out of sight 
and exposed to view in an adjoining room of hand- 
some dimensions a long table artistically dressed 
and bearing a really grand supper. Mr. Grit 
groaned inwardly, and cast anxious glances towards 
the outer door as though he would gladly escape, 
while Estimate swept the scene with a glance and 
braced himself for the task before him. 

The supper was an example of the skill of the 
fine cooks at Schney’s restaurant, extended and 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 53 

elaborated by the confections and taste of Monsieur 
Pitchin, a professional caterer indispensable in fash- 
ionable circles. Schney’s bright mulatto waiters, 
who had served in years gone by as butlers in gen- 
tlemen’s houses, now dressed in snowy white, moved 
noiselessly about dispensing the grand fare and 
obeying with graceful speed the slightest nod or 
wink or cough of the host. All were captured. 
Mina had welcomed every guest, laying a soft hand 
in the palm of each one as he entered and shooting 
happy glances from half-closed eyes in every direc- 
tion. When all were seated she vanished. 

Mr. Estimate adroitly directed the conversation 
into the desired channel, and Mr. Grit helped him 
to keep it there. Mr. Schney appeared to be simply 
drifting with the current. 

At the conclusion of the supper an alderman of 
some years’ experience proposed the health of “our 
host and worthy friend,” to which all responded 
heartily, and the company returned to the parlor for 
cigars and business. 

“Make yourself at home, gentlemen,” said 
Schney; “smoke as much as you please, and do 
not fear — my wife has given me the house for one 
night. I move, gentlemen, Mr. Estimate take the 


54 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

chair; all right? all agreed; very well. Mr. Esti- 
mate, please take it.” 

On taking the chair Mr. Estimate said: “I am 
very glad to meet my friends here to consult to- 
gether for the best interests of our party and of our 
beautiful city. I am sure that we all desire the 
same thing, and that we only need to understand 
each other in order to have perfect harmony. It is 
necessary, in order to carry this large and intelli- 
gent ward for our party, that we should have as our 
standard-bearer some well-known citizen of charac- 
ter and influence. If we could agree upon some 
one here to-night I think we would take a step in 
the direction of victory!” 

Mr. Estimate was not accidental chairman, nor 
was it spontaneous patriotism which brought Mr. 
Grit to his feet the moment the chairman sat down. 
Grit fearlessly denounced anybody and everybody 
who allowed any selfish interest to affect their party 
allegiance, anfl closed with the assurance that he 
“ felt safe in the use of strong language in the com- 
pany of men all tried and true, and ready to sacrifice 
anything save honor for the triumphs of the grand 
principles for which they were contending.” He 
wanted, he said, “ a thorough party ticket, with thor- 
ough party men on it, so that the great triumph, 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 55 

now almost certain, might be beyond question a 
party triumph.” 

Estimate listened with wrapt attention, so the 
company said, but was really so near asleep that he 
started, like a man waking from a trance, when Grit 
concluded his remarks. 

These brief addresses were followed by some 
lively discussions, perfectly natural on the part of 
those engaged, but carefully manipulated by a few 
of the initiated. After a moment of silence the 
alderman again rose and said in a voice as musical 
and soft as Erin’s harp : 

“ Mr. Charyreman, I believe, upon my soul, I do, 
indeed, that we could not do a wiser, or I might say, 
sor, a more prudent thing, than to nommynayte our 
worthy friend who has so handsomely entertained 
us to-night, sor, in his palatial ho — residence. 
Schney, sor, and victory is the same thing identi- 
cally in this place ! ” 

There was a soft clapping of hands. Grit swal- 
lowed something which seemed to be large, and 
cleared his throat in a manner almost equivalent to 
saying “damn!” and then perspired. Estimate, 
with a cat-like glide, got to Schney in an instant, 
took him by the hand, and in about eight, certainly 
not more than ten or twelve words, expressed his 


56 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

congratulations and conviction that all would be 
well. 

At the door Schney’s carriage waited for the two 
leaders. Estimate glided in, and was seated in- 
stantly; but Grit hesitated, and would have insisted 
on walking home but for the fact that Schney was 
there to see and push him in. As the vehicle rolled 
away, Grit said, between his teeth : “ Hell ! ” 

Estimate asked, in a rather drowsy way : “ What 
did you remark? ” 

“ I say,” answered Grit, “ that we are in a devil 
of a mess. Won’t all the temperance people stir 
around and raise a storm if we insist on using 
Schney ? ” 

“ Why should they ? They were represented to- 
night. Old man Febrile is one of their leading 
men, and Major Borax is a paid lecturer. They 
both seemed to be satisfied.” 

“But the preachers, Estimate, and the church 
people. How will you hold them down? They will 
see through the whole thing, and ” 

“ Submit to it,” broke in Estimate with energy, 
straightening up, and getting really interested. “ The 
churches dare not go into politics. I have thought 
over that matter thoroughly.” 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 57 

“ Can we hold Schney to party measures after we 
put him in ? ” 

u We must hold him.” 

“ How ? ” 

“ By advancing him, by flattering his vanity, and, 
if necessary, by really recognizing and rewarding 
his influence. By the way, you must see that he is 
properly noticed by the press, and added to our com- 
mittee.” 

“ What ? put him on the committee ? ” 

“ Why, certainly ; he is irresistible in his ward — 
that is to say, as long as the better people there 
keep their disgust for politics.” 

“ He is a thoroughly low dog, is he not ? ” 

“Well, yes, his enemies say so; but think what 
he has accomplished. Ho you know that his wealth 
is considerable, and that he is a large real-estate 
owner? You must admit that Schney is not so bad 
as he is painted. His success must mean something .” 

Grit retired, feeling dissatisfied with himself, 
and in spite of determined efforts to compose him- 
self and sleep, reviewed, criticised, approved, and 
disapproved the work of the night, until he felt as 
if he was on the verge of insanity. 

Estimate calmly disrobed, deliberately laid away 
each garment, slipped in smoothly between the 


58 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

sheets, adjusted his head, made a slight change in 
the position of his weary legs, moved one elbow just 
a little, and — fell asleep. 

It is only in romances that the intriguer or the 
villain tosses on a sleepless bed. In real life it is 
the man of tender conscience who does the rolling, 
magnifying in the mysterious hours of night every 
failing of the day into crime, and longing for the 
return of another day in which to fight more des- 
perately for the attainment of his high ideal. Pos- 
sibly the most marked characteristics of accom- 
plished rascals are composure, cheerfulness, and 
confidence, or utter indifference. Virtue, integrity, 
and fidelity furnish the world with tears and guard 
the sleep of criminals. 

The next day the party paper announced that “ at 
a meeting of some prominent citizens held last 
night at the residence of one of the leading business 
men of the Seventeenth ward Mr. Conrad Schney 
was urged to announce himself for the Council, and 
has, we are glad to learn, consented to allow the 
use of his name. Mr. Schney is one of the most 
successful merchants in that thriving portion of our 
city, and is recognized as a man of sterling integ- 
rity, tireless energy, and any amount of good busi- 
ness sense. We are glad to know that he is a 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 59 

staunch party man, and well deserves his good for- 
tune as well as the hearty support of all good citi- 
zens.” 

During the day, counting both private and public 
perusals, Schney read the notice fifty times, and 
went to bed at last with the beautiful sentences at 
his tongue’s end. 

Estimate and Grit laid aside law and business on 
election day, and each in his own way went to work 
to keep everybody and everything in smooth work- 
ing order. They knew well enough that the decent 
people would gladly spurn their candidate, who was 
simply a bait for tfie malcontents, and that they 
must be held together by the usual party prophecies 
that defeat meant ruin. The people showed some 
disposition to meddle, as it is called, with the ar- 
rangements which the leaders had so laboriously 
made, and were discussing, in their usual helpless 
way, the candidates and the combinations, always 
concluding that they must submit either to their 
terrible enemies or the terrible candidates of their 
friends. 

Old Febrile, the temperance leader, whose fortune 
consisted of large interests in several lodges and 
circles which had never even proposed to pay any 
dividends, crawled around, giving his hands a con- 


60 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

stant dry wash, and bewailing in quavering tones 
the fearful demoralization of the day. Having 
nothing whatever to lose, and having long since 
abandoned every hope of gain, he boldly and truth- 
fully denounced the nomination of Schney as an 
outrage upon the community. Of course nobody 
listened to him. 

Major Borax, decorated with a large, rich ribbon, 
the brilliancy of which brought out quite effectually 
the shabbiness of everything else he wore, stood in 
one of the largest precincts, somewhat in the atti- 
tude of the sentinel at the gate of Pompeii, and 
with an expression of countenance which indicated 
his cheerful purpose to snatch victory or be buried 
in the ashes of defeat, and wait there a few centuries 
quite patiently for exhumation and life in immor- 
tal verse. 

Judge Bragg rode from point to point in a hand- 
some carriage, with Schney, Alderman Howley, and 
the prospect of a constant succession of drinks, and 
was appealed to at every turn to settle disputed 
questions bearing on the election laws. The solem- 
nity with which he delivered his opinions made 
them as satisfactory as they were worthless. 

Grit had but one answer for all the grumblers : 
“Vote for the devil if you find him on our ticket! 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 61 

Damn the man who don’t vote or scratches his 
ticket!” This he repeated everywhere in a soft, 
low, hut emphatic tone. When alone, and able to 
think for a moment, he congratulated himself on 
the fact that, thanks to Estimate’s good work, the 
temperance men were voting the ticket straight in 
one ward to beat the liquor interest, while the 
money and great influence of the liquor dealers 
were at work to carry another ward for the party, 
with the assurance that victory meant security for 
them and their trade. Labor and Capital were shak- 
ing hands at the polls, each satisfied that the other 
was being completely sold out. 

The unprincipled people of the community were 
voting to suit themselves, and generally for what 
they considered their interests, while the intelligent 
and worthy men of the town, of both parties, were 
voting, with hesitation and even disgust, the ticket 
prepared for them by their respective leaders. 

Mr. Estimate was compelled to be on the move 
all day. He had built up, by years of careful work, 
a most astonishing reputation for wisdom, and had 
become a positively unique specimen of human 
nature, being regarded as eminently friendly to 
every sort of interest and to all sorts of people, and 
in some way managing to take an active part on 


62 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

both sides of every question without giving offense. 
He had a limit to his benevolence, however, which 
was well defined. Anything whatever which his 
party for the time approved he most heartily en- 
dorsed, while anything outside of his party enclo- 
sure he denounced with measured solemnity, in a 
deep baritone, accompanied by gestures painful to 
see. At such a time his admirers felt creeping sen- 
sations about the spine, and sudden tendency of 
blood to the head, and would say how distressing it 
was to see such an able man rapidly and wilfully 
destroying himself in the service of an ungrateful 
people. Everybody consulted Mr. Estimate and felt 
obliged to go away greatly comforted, except Deacon 
Impetus, the son-in-law of Major Borax. He was 
evidently on bad terms with himself, and disposed 
to quarrel with politics. Meeting Estimate in a 
quiet place he spoke out, saying: “ So you are for 
that vile man, Schney ! the man who, as Iodine, my 
wife, says, is responsible for the death of poor Filter, 
and who knew more about the murder in his place 
than he ever told. And still in the trade ! I will 
scratch him, the old brute, if we lose the whole 
town.” 

Mr. Estimate felt the force of these remarks, and 
during their delivery gave the strongest evidence of 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 63 

feeling that he ever allowed himself-— went through 
the motion of choking with a painful smile on his 
face. Having, as it were, cut the rope and let him- 
self down, he replied : “ You forget, my brother, that 
there was no murder after all; and that the doctor’s 
certificate ascribed Filter’s death to malaria, and not 
to liquor, as you were told. Mr. Schney keeps a 
restaurant, it is true, but, my dear sir, you must not 
allow your prejudices to cause you to overlook the 
fact that Mr. Schney is a large property-owner and 
tax-payer; that he is a public-spirited citizen, and as 
true as steel! How, think a moment: My friend 
Schney — and I am proud of his friendship — is a self- 
made man; has been remarkably successful in busi- 
ness; has had a large experience, and is practically 
independent. Besides all that, he is very popular, 
and of course represents a large class in the commu- 
nity.” 

Deacon Impetus shrivelled and discolored under 
this like sliced apples in the sun. The poor fellow 
had only one symptom of prominence, caused by 
his fondness for church affairs — his title as deacon. 
He was so poor, and had been poor so long, that he 
had abandoned all hope except the one hope that he 
might outlive the other deacons and become senior 
deacon. But he had strong opposition. Having no 


64 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

home on earth, he took a premature and, some 
wicked people thought, an exaggerated interest in 
his prospective home, and was trying to he as hum- 
ble and as honest and as much of a Christian as he 
possibly could be without actually starving to death 
or suffering arrest as an imbecile vagrant. 

Estimate’s warm defense of Schney scarcely moved 
the deacon until he caught the words “ success,” 
“tax-payer,” “experience,” and “independence,” 
and was made to feel how poor and shiftless and 
dependent he was himself as compared with the 
energetic and successful Schney. He flushed with 
shame as he recalled the fact that he had actually 
spoken of a prominent and rising citizen — Mr. Esti- 
mate’s friend, too — as “the old brute.” Then he 
began to wonder what Mr. Estimate, the wise and 
prudent person, would think of a poor man like 
himself, who was about to scratch a man remarkably 
successful and “as true as steel!” 

Then he almost determined that he would be a 
man at any hazard, and tell Estimate to his face 
what a fraud he was to be advocating the election 
of such a beast; but reconsidered the matter. 
Though he had nothing to lose, he wanted every- 
thing that goes to make life endurable, and amongst 
other things he needed friends. And so he con- 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 65 

eluded that, sweet as it was to denounce evil and 
evil men, he must forego the pleasure rather than 
offend good men and able politicians like Mr. Esti- 
mate. 

The deacon felt that in casting a vote for Schney 
he would be giving the lie to all his past and to his 
Christian profession, and that if he scratched him 
he would be giving offense to men far better, that 
is to say more prosperous, more respected, and more 
influential than himself. After all, he concluded, 
“ I am only a deacon ! ” 

So the deacon, flanked on one side by a tender 
conscience and on the other by a wholesome dread 
of poverty any deeper than that he endured, sneaked 
home without voting and committed the unpardon- 
able sin of politics. From that day the dignities of 
the diaconate lost their sweetness and he gradually 
pined away. It was not Schney’s grandeur or the 
insolence of his pretensions, or even envy, that 
killed the deacon, but the inexplicable attachment 
of Brother Estimate and other worthy brethren in 
public life to his candidacy. In fact, the deacon was 
out of date, practically null and void — all his cou- 
pons clipped and collected long ago. Being nothing 
to the world but an irritating evidence of debt, his 
Master cancelled him. 


66 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

A man who has nothing to recommend him but 
gentleness, purity, and principle, and who is handi- 
capped with poverty and a tender conscience, is not 
in a condition to go about asserting himself. His 
study should be modesty in all its branches. Poli- 
ticians very properly maintain that such characters 
are a nuisance and an obstruction, and that the 
foolish prejudices which arise from religious convic- 
tion and a nice sense of propriety, and even the idea 
that a thing must he right to be admissible, ought 
to stand aside and let the party managers illustrate 
the possibilities of a well-conducted campaign as a 
great moral agent. 

Some younger men, on familiar terms with Esti- 
mate, gave him a few of their opinions during the 
day in a frank and playful manner, which developed 
on his countenance a series of smiles painful to see. 
But Estimate had figured up the result, and was 
willing to wait a day for rest and reward. He knew 
that success would secure forgetfulness of all the 
crooked work of the day. Being thoroughly im- 
mersed in politics, he was as thoroughly convinced 
that it was his duty to make every little scruple of 
over-sensitive people give way, or, if necessary, to 
beat down the carping of innocent moralists. He was 
fast approaching a state of mind in which he would 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 67 

conclude that, after all, the surest and quickest route 
for the incoming of the millennium and the adjust- 
ment of the world was along the line of intelligent 
statesmanship. 

As he walked slowly along a street recently 
opened and not yet built up, he was hailed by two 
brothers who had voted and were returning to their 
work — powerfully-built fellows, and by trade stone- 
masons. They were known to their friends and 
neighbors as “the Harmony brothers.” Rubble, 
about thirty-five, and Ashler, twenty-nine years of 
age; honest, straightforward fellows, rather confi- 
dent, owing to their great strength, and as inde- 
pendent a pair as ever toiled for food and raiment. 
Rubble seized Estimate by his coat with the gentle 
grip of a giant and said, without any introductory 
words : “ So we are to have old Schney forced on us, 
are we, by you managers? Hot so easily, though, 
Mr. Estimate, as you might suppose. Ashler here 
and I have put in two solid shots for the other side. 
We are with you until you try to ride us with such 
stuff as Schney, but right there we kick.” 

It was a lonesome place. Mr. Estimate’s counte- 
nance was better adapted to solemnity and a sort of 
stolid dignity than to any light or variegated work, 
but the circumstances and surroundings stimulated 


68 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

him to the production of a series of pleased expres- 
sions quite creditable to one of such limited ability. 
He really appeared to be pleased with the hearty 
raillery of his stout friend, and actually laughed in 
such a way as to almost say: “I half agree with 
you, that I do.” 

Ashler, the younger and more fiery of the two, 
added with a quiet air that he didn’t care a damn 
for the party or the managers, or the candidates, 
either, and would vote as he pleased. He wanted, 
he said, all the chances he could get to down such 
villains as Schney, and, for that matter, the rascals 
who were helping him. 

Mr. Estimate laughed a gentle approval of these 
remarks, and, thanking them for their deep interest 
in the election, departed, touching his hat and say- 
ing : “ Gentlemen, I am glad to have met you — like 
to have suggestions — glad to meet my friends; ah, 
good day, good day ; ha, ah, ha ! ” 

At the next corner the pair encountered Mr. Grit, 
who engaged them in conversation, and soon, in a 
thoughtless moment, let slip the remark about the 
devil and scratching, which had served him so well 
during the day. It proved to be injudicious, inas- 
much as it aroused the indignation of the younger 
Harmony, who struck him a blow which was won- 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 69 

derful in that it was not instantly fatal. Grit sus- 
tained his remarks with all the strength at his 
command, hut, of course, was soon a wreck. He 
managed to get to the meeting that night, but the 
false proportions of his head and the overdone 
shadows of his countenance, added to the languor of 
his movements, made him scarcely recognizable. 
Mr. Estimate was really distressed when he saw 
him. 

Judge Dragg, Alderman Howley, Mr. Estimate, 
old man Febrile, and many other leading citizens, 
were there, laboring under intense excitement, a 
heavy supper, and innumerable drinks. It was soon 
evident from the returns that Schney had been 
elected by a handsome majority. Mr. Estimate 
seized the occasion to speak of Mr. Schney as the 
man who “ had, by the liberal expenditure of his 
energy, time, and money, and by the application of 
his splendid abilities, done more than probably any 
other one man to save the city from ruin ; that he 
deserved the thanks of the whole community, and 
especially of those who had been by necessity in the 
midst of the fray.” Next morning the papers 
printed these remarks under the head : “ Mr. Esti- 
mate Speaks For Us All ! ” 

Later in the evening Mr. Schney himself arrived 


70 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

at headquarters, bringing the very latest intelligence 
from his ward, and the modesty and delicacy with 
which he referred to his own success gave indispu- 
table evidence of his capacity and willingness to 
learn when he had a chance. 

It seems to be a rule of fate or a law of nature to 
soften every triumph of man by the prompt intro- 
duction of a tragedy. Or, perhaps, fate is artistic 
and blends light and shade, or heightens joys by a 
dash of pathos, merely to indulge a pretty fancy or 
try new effects. Or, it may be, fate is a grim 
humorist, who distorts life into a caricature and 
retires to laugh. Be that as it may, however, in the 
general rejoicing and hilarity Judge Bragg became 
unaccountably silent. When playfully chided for 
his very unusual lack of interest, he made no re- 
sponse, but gazed fixedly and appealingly into the 
faces of those about him. Some one noticing the 
pallor of his face, and supposing he had fainted, 
offered him a flask. He did not make the slightest 
motion to receive it, or even turn his eyes wistfully 
towards it. At this every one became alarmed; 
those who looked at him from one side were struck 
with the awful solemnity of his face, while others, 
viewing him from the opposite side, thought they 
detected a smile. To many questions he answered 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 71 

nothing. Febrile, who had seen hundreds of sick 
and dying people, seized the left hand of the Judge, 
raised it to the level of his head and released it. It 
fell like a clod to his side. 

“ Paralysis,” said Febrile. 

In a few minutes a physician appeared, and or- 
dered the instant removal of the patient to his 
home. As the doctor passed out he said to Grit, 
who had questioned him, “ Oh, yes, deterioration of 
the tissues — blood-vessel given away — free effusion 
on the brain. Progressive, and necessarily fatal. 
No hope. Bye-bye ! ” 

Febrile and Borax renewed their pledges to each 
other, and determined to say something impressive 
at the next meeting of the “ Cool Spring Division.” 
All things considered, they got home with remark- 
able ease and precision. 

Mr. Schney walked home with his triumph badly 
hobbled by the untimely and ghastly conduct of his 
friend the Judge, and with occasional thoughts of 
the unreasonable death of Filter. 


CHAPTER VI. 

A Public Slave. 

For a few days Schney carried himself with a sort 
of suppressed pride. A close observer might have 
detected scintillations of vanity sweeping over and 
illuminating the general air of modesty which he 
was cultivating for public effect. Occasionally his 
pride got the ascendancy, and his gait became sug- 
gestive of too much strain between the crupper and 
the kimbal jack of his physical organization. At 
home, exhausted by the strain of carrying himself 
well, he relaxed into comfort. As he settled him- 
self for the first time in the arm-chair provided for 
him in the Council chamber, the same struggle 
might be observed expressing itself in more subtle 
and interesting forms. The beautiful and almost 
pathetic weariness with which, after a day of private 
anxieties, he assumed the burden of public cares, 
could not fail to impress the intelligent observer; 
and after he was seated it was positively painful to 
see with what patient fortitude he listened to the 
unimportant details of the familiar routine. 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 73 

There is nothing more distressing to a benevolent 
mind than to observe the steady accumulation of 
cares which comes to all men who are so unfortu- 
nate as to be torn from the composure and serenity 
of private life, and forced, by the exacting demands 
of public necessity, into positions of responsibility 
and labor — to be raised, as it were, to a dreary, 
solitary eminence, and there overlook the struggles 
and agonies of the surging masses of humanity. 

Surely nothing but a just appreciation of the sac- 
rifices he had already made, and a clear conception 
of the burdens which must in the future be laid 
upon him, could have converted the heretofore 
cheerful and hopeful Schney into the man he now 
seemed to be. It was evident that during the short 
time he had occupied his seat he had imbibed an 
amount of information concerning the complex in- 
terests of government sufficient to be a burden to 
him, and to cause him to be amazed that so many 
people managed to live and be so ignorant and so 
indifferent to the tremendous issues which he was 
now compelled constantly to consider. 

At times he was startled by the thought that but 

I for the self-sacrificing labors of himself and his asso- 
ciates, and their wise and patient care, a whole com- 


74 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 


munity — virtuous and innocent, but helpless and 
careless — might fall into irremediable ruin. 

It is thus that Providence, seeing that the children 
of men are wilful and prone to neglect the great 
concerns of life, raises up, in due time, men of a 
sterner mould and of finer intuition than their fel- 
lows to be the leaders and guardians of helpless thou- 
sands. Schney often pondered the mystery of his 
rapid promotion, and sighed when he was compelled 
to admit to himself that it could be explained only 
on the presumption that he was sadly needed in the 
councils of the people. He saw that he was doomed 
to a life of servitude, and, with a courage commen- 
surate with the solemnity of his convictions, re- 
solved to accept the manifest leadings of Provi- 
dence. 

This resolve, firmly made, restored almost instant- 
ly the light-hearted and hopeful temper of the new^ 
friend of the people, and removed at once all danger 
of his retirement and its fearful consequences. 

Estimate, now chairman of the local committee, 
and Grit, his adviser, took a rather different view of 
the causes of Schney ’s election, and had mapped out 
his future to their own satisfaction. They had failed 
to take into consideration, however, the fact that a 
man once raised to a position out of all proportion 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 75 

to liis ability and character rapidly convinces him- 
self that he is fully equal to it and finally aspires to 
greater heights. They did not weigh the yet 
stranger fact that the man actually takes on some 
elevation, by reason of new opportunities, and finally 
approaches a development which, in appearance at 
least, fits him for honors which at first only exposed 
his incapacity; and this without any necessary im- 
provement in that part of the man which the world 
calls his character, and by which he must finally be 
estimated. And so the man base by nature, forced 
by fortuitous events or elevated by careless voters 
into a high position, not only defiles the place of 
dignity, but from it steps to yet higher places, from 
which he serenely views the labors and unrewarded 
toil of his fellow-men. To rise above those that sur- 
round him, to be sought for and pleaded with and 
to dispense authority — these are the impulses which 
move the man emerging from obscurity. 

Though Schney had been elected partly to satisfy 
the business interests which he to a certain extent 
represented, he was yet more distinctly understood 
to represent the masses, including the poor and the 
ignorant; but in this capacity he was a failure, be- 
cause he had never been in any true sense a poor 
man, and had no feeling for the pains of poverty. 


76 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

When he was himself a common laborer, his sensi- 
bilities being undeveloped, he escaped by indiffer- 
ence the most bitter portion of the poor. It was his 
insensibility to the awful squalor at his home which 
enabled him, by saving in coin the comforts due his 
family, to collect his first means, and his heartless 
cruelty and selfishness whioh made it possible for 
him to keep his material interests in advance of his 
mental and moral improvement. When poor he 
did not, could not, feel it; and by the time his sus- 
ceptibility to pain was developed he had left and 
had forgotten the land of dependence and fear and 
foreboding. The poor cannot be considered, with 
any justice, as a mass of level people. They are 
subdivided, as other classes are, into sufferers and 
great sufferers. Some of them, possibly, never feel 
anything sharper than mere physical pain, while 
others know the poignancy of those inner pains 
which we try to summarize in the word anguish. 
In the great mass of the poor whom the new or 
modern statesman tries to represent are many who 
have quietly fallen from affluence into an obscure 
comfort which asks no help in material things, but 
craves a return of old associations, old friends, and 
old surroundings. 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 77 

Others, descended, remotely it may be, from an 
ancestry of noble qualities who for centuries per- 
haps enjoyed all the rare culture which wealth and 
rank combined can confer, feel a mysterious and 
irrepressible desire to escape from a life which 
does not satisfy, and find if possible that which their 
natures crave. 

And others still, conscious of powers or of gifts 
which have not been discovered, or which the world 
refuses to recognize in such shabby attire, groan 
within themselves as they view the ready recogni- 
tion of insolent sham clothed in the elegance of 
questionable prosperity. 

If the great problem were simply how to supply 
the demand for food, raiment, and shelter, the world 
would soon solve it and poverty would vanish be- 
fore the abundance which benevolence would sup- 
ply; but the want which presses itself upon the 
notice of the world, and which demands relief, is 
the cry of the people for the recognition of the best 
qualities of humanity and for protection from the 
ever increasing insolence and tyranny which results 
from the elevation of vice, incapacity, and vanity to 
place and power. Thousands who are self-con- 
tained, who have not the remotest desire for the 
fictitious elevation of political life, and are therefore 


78 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

not open to the charge of envious disparagement, 
are compelled to submit to the rule of men who 
have long ceased to be representative, and are 
simply politicians by trade and the partners of other 
politicians. Their business is to sustain each other, 
and their capital consists of a great mass of voters 
swayed by constant appeals to hopes and fears pre- 
viously implanted for that very use. 

The official position of Schney compelled men 
infinitely superior in every sense to approach him 
deferentially, presenting their requests and pretend- 
ing to hear his views with great interest and humble 
approbation. In proportion to their respectability 
and worth Schney’s importance increased. He ac- 
tually began to believe that he was necessary to 
these proud but helpless people, and that they were 
reluctantly consenting by their appeals to his wis- 
dom and ability. While he consoled himself with 
this pleasant idea, vainly trying at the same time to 
grasp the meaning of the varied schemes presented 
to him, the simple miiided citizens laughed at his 
stupid pomposity and quietly arranged to capture 
his vote. 

And so, gradually enlarged by a vanity which fed 
on delusions, Mr. Schney drifted away from many 
who were ignorant enough to honestly admire him 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 79 

and became the associate of others who flattered, 
nsed, and despised him. He rapidly lost all interest 
in the poor and struggling classes, who had pushed 
him out of obscurity with their votes, and when 
appealed to in their behalf only advised them to 
emulate his example and rise. He was already con- 
vinced, as many another prosperous fellow before 
him has been, that he had raised himself by his own 
energy and industry, and that his old friends still 
left in the mire of poverty were shiftless and worth- 
less, and therefore poor. He readily excused his 
attitude of superiority on the very reasonable ground 
that he was a superior man, and that he had demon- 
strated the fact. He was not alone in this conclu- 
sion, for thousands of really worthy men, made limp 
and hopeless by years of honest struggle against 
poverty, abandoned practically all faith in Provi- 
dence and in virtue and made their obeisance in due 
time to the prosperous criminal. Good and brave 
men began to discover that it was useless to denounce 
a man so solid financially and so well supported by 
his political allies, and learned to their sorrow that 
persistence would result in nothing but their own 
serious hurt. 

And yet it is said we are a kingless people. Per- 
haps a man might bend low before a sovereign 


80 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 


crowned and enthroned, and yet not so profoundly 
bow as when before these monstrous accidents he 
pleads for right or seeks redress for wrong. 

A hundred years of liberty, perfect as a dream 
when compared with any sovereign’s reign, has 
given the cities of America to thieves and whiskey, 
commonwealths to aliens and strangers, and the 
President’s chair to the highest bidder. And the 
great mystery which rolls unsolved over a continent 
is the fact that a free, prosperous, and enlightened 
people, despising the royal prerogative, and amused 
at the superstition of the divine right of kings, puts 
slaves of unknown ancestry in ruler’s chairs and 
bows to the decrees of unlettered mobs. 

At the end of one term this man, once so humble, 
was convinced that he possessed qualities which 
entitled him to recognition as a man of affairs, espe- 
cially fitted for the work of guiding and governing 
the helpless respectability and aimless morality of 
the city. He sincerely pitied the numberless men 
about him who were deluding themselves with the 
idea that their characters alone entitled them to 
respect. He was utterly unable to understand why 
men who had never been in the Council, who had 
no property and no such business ability as he had, 
and no influence in ward politics, should go about 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 81 

acting as if they were really good citizens and even 
treating him with amused indifference. In fact, Mr. 
Schney secretly entertained the belief that he was 
far more patriotic and decidedly more American 
than the quiet natives of the city, who seemed, he 
thought, to have grown weary of citizenship and all 
its glories. 

This thought inspired him to hope that a man as 
resolved as he was to rise in public life might greatly 
benefit himself and at the same time stir the dull in- 
difference of the old inhabitants sufficiently to make 
them feel some interest in their country. Mr. 
Schney began to see that the most intelligent man 
in the community, if he had never been in the 
Council, really needed the watchcare of men like 
himself. It shocked him to think how many people 
there were who really did not know all the things 
he had learned. He felt that he was at last and for- 
ever separated from the great and level mass of un- 
known people. 

In his new place of business Mr. Schney met, as 
he supposed, the very best people of the city, many 
of them his warm friends, and many others whose 
habits compelled them to meet him on terms of 
social equality or else, refusing, condemn themselves. 
Frequenters of bars cannot justly claim superiority 


82 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

to the proprietor. An honest man cannot despise 
another who ministers to his pleasure or to any 
habit of his, however base, and retain his respect 
for himself. A man’s customers are his friends or 
his slaves. 

Mr. Schney widened his circle of friends and ex- 
tended his influence when he became himself a valu- 
able customer. The wholesale men saw some fine 
traits in him. They found him a prompt and cheer- 
ful payer, an energetic, pushing man; anything 
which secured a place at his bar and his endorse- 
ment had an immediate and constant demand. 
But these things, important as they might seem, 
were as nothing compared with the fact that he was 
one man whose faith in the perfect innocence of the 
business never wavered. This beautiful confidence 
was apparent at all times and made his presence in 
the office of a gloomy self-accusing dealer a benison. 
While he lingered, chatting and chuckling, evil fore- 
bodings could not press with their usual weight. 

It is worth something to have a friend near w ho 
wdll tell us that our fears are childish and our crimes 
only ugly dreams. 

Danger, and even death, may be met with some 
composure if a brave companion grasps our hand 
and looks with fearless eyes upon that which made 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 83 

as tremble and choke with fright. A conscience 
void of offense may bring easement where any other 
messenger could not come. Sehney was a good 
comrade of the wholesale dealers and, like a good 
soldier, occupied the exposed outpost while they re- 
velled in the fortified respectability of the main line, 
sending, as the service required, all necessary sup- 
plies and words of cheer to the front. 

With an ever- widening circle of friends, a grow- 
ing influence, and increasing wealth, Sehney was 
drifting into importance. People who thought they 
despised him began to discover that it was scarcely 
reasonable to do so any longer. In fact, they found 
it exceedingly difficult to hold on to their honest 
convictions concerning the man. How was it pos- 
sible, they reasoned, to reconcile their opinions and 
his wonderful success and popularity. Many who 
had innocently imagined themselves far more wor- 
thy of the respect and confidence of the community 
found it necessary to retire into silence and to as- 
sume modest attitudes when the prosperous and 
rising Sehney, the valuable and enterprising citizen, 
was mentioned. lie was successful ; failures would 
please be humble. The comments of the general 
public, and especially of the politicians, being al- 
ways apologetic and frequently laudatory, it was 


84 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

considered in bad taste, and even an evidence of a 
sour, misanthropic, or fanatical disposition, to speak 
the truth about the man. He was entrenched be- 
hind his property and his strange hold upon the most 
unmanageable portion of the voting population. 
Thousands who would have been glad to see him 
returned to appropriate obscurity began to fear that 
he was already master of the situation. 

It is a strange fact, and a fact which may yet be 
made to throw some light upon practical politics, 
that the bar-rooms and liquor interests of nearly all, 
if not all, the large cities of this country exert more 
influence in determining nominations and elections 
than all the churches of all the denominations com- 
bined. It would be extremely interesting to inquire, 
also, why it should be true, if it is true, that a well- 
established reputation for piety is quite as damaging, 
if not really more fatal, to a man’s political ambition 
than acknowledged and chronic immorality. It is 
astonishing what a load of crookedness and de- 
bauchery can be overlooked in an available candi- 
date, and how extremely difficult it is to secure any 
extra consideration for unquestioned Christian vir- 
tues. It seems that the professional politician either 
must go down or prefers to go. The danger of any 
admixture of politics and religion is doubly guarded 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 85 

by the fact that religion would be almost as fatal to 
politics as politics would be to religion. The poli- 
tician and the preacher are agreed. The shepherd 
and the goatherd combine their strength to build 
the wall which separates their flocks, and together 
patrol the neutral ground. 

As the time drew near preparations were made 
for another election. Estimate and his political 
associates, including, of course, Lawyer Grit, made 
a careful survey of the field, and concluded that 
they were now in a condition to do without the 
influence of the powerful representative of the Sev- 
enteenth ward. 

“ It is time to let old Schney down,” said Grit. 

“Yes,” replied Estimate; “he would not help 
our cause this time. We are pretty well harmon- 
ized now, and he would be too pronounced — might 
create the idea that he represented something and 
stir up opposition.” 

“The State election is on us in the fall,” added 
Grit, “and we must be careful to hide away all our 
‘specialties’ and show staple goods only.” 

Mr. Estimate thought over this, or something else, 
for a moment or two, and finally said, with a far 
away, dreamy look, and in a tone about as musical 


86 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

as the raps of a cobbler’s hammer, “ I — ah — yes, I 
agree with you.” 

Mr. Schney was therefore quietly dropped from 
the Council. Not because unfit to be there, or be- 
cause he desired it, or because his constituents de- 
sired it, but because the policy of the little band 
of devoted citizens called “the leaders” and the 
interests of the party demanded it. The same hands 
which had crowned him were about to push him 
under the knife and, when the work was done, hold 
up his ugly head that all might see. 

Mr. Schney seemed to submit, and expressed him- 
self as if wounded rather than angry; a faithful and 
loyal man, sadly maltreated, but resolved to exhibit 
to the world a most unusual and admirable case of 
good behavior under galling and mysterious wrong. 
Of course, a man like him, conscious of his great 
usefulness, and made acquainted with his abilities 
by a brief opportunity to use them, could not fathom 
the conduct of his treacherous associates. 

In thus retiring for a while from the distressing 
responsibilities and the unsought honors of public 
life, Mr. Schney was not without some very consid- 
erable consolation. Many people who had never 
heard of him until his appearance in the Council 
now not only knew him, but knew him as a far 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 87 

more important individual than he really was. The 
mere fact that he had been in the Council in some 
way added to his importance, although it was well 
known that his election was a mere makeshift, and 
his presence there utterly useless. Others, who 
knew nothing of his character, thought of him as a 
man who could have pavements laid by the mile, 
innumerable gas-lamps set up, or parks opened and 
improved by a word or a nod. Others still imagined 
that he was a master of the art of finance, and that 
city bonds would never sell as well again as they did 
when he directed, with silent wisdom, their issue 
and redemption. Even the shrewdest and most in- 
telligent people had imbibed the idea that, notwith- 
standing his utter lack of the most ordinary ability 
and the commonest attainments, he yet had that 
very desirable but intangible thing called influence. 
In fact, Schney’s brief possession of power and his 
flagrant prosperity had blinded the intelligence of a 
whole community. Ail of this pleased Sehney,who 
was still the same stupid fellow, and forced him to 
the conclusion that he was a truly wonderful speci- 
men of a self-made man. 

Mrs. Schney was the envy of all her poor neigh- 
bors. Her kindness and charity, her amiability, her 
almost apologetic manner — nothing could atone for 


88 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

her prosperity. She was envied and hated, poor 
thing, simply because she was able to do good and 
was constantly doing it. She made her home a 
model of comfort, and her daughter made it elegant. 
This made Schney happy and comfortable. 

Mina, growing constantly 
more beautiful, and, in spite of 
her surroundings, more lovely 
in character and disposition, 
had enjoyed a great triumph 
before the people by a remark- 
able rendition of “ The Angel’s 
Serenade,” in which she had 
played with such skill and 
effect that the people and the 
press long afterwards contin- 
ued to sound her praise. Her 
father was flattered. 

The boys were travelling in 
the grandest regions of the 
West under the care of a tutor, 
and wrote home letters full of happiness. 

Thus from the base conduct of the father come, 
apparently, honors for himself; ease and comfort 
for a faithful wife and mother; culture, safety, lux- 
ury, and triumph for his daughter; the delights of 



OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 89 

travel and the benefits of education for his hoys. 
(But how fares Filter’s widow and her babes?) The 
greatest consolation of all — the one which appealed 
most strongly to Schney himself — was a skillfully- 
drawn map hanging in the sitting-room of Mr. 
Schney’s comfortable house, and entitled “ Schney’s 
Addition.” On it were broad streets and avenues, 
alleys, and building lots, laid off with the beautiful 
precision of the engineer, streets and avenues named, 
squares and lots numbered, and here and there sug- 
gestions of fountains, monuments, and flower-beds. 

While Mr. Schney was engaged in the public ser- 
vice he learned some things which he thought might 
be useful to a man who desired to do well, and, by 
accident possibly — some said by design — consulted 
Mr. Tinkle, a real estate agent, who was said to be 
a very clever and utterly unprincipled man, and who 
did an immense business for people who hoped that 
he would use his shrewdness for their benefit and 
bestow his rascality on some one else. The result 
of the conference was a purchase of lands at the 
growing end of the city, and — this beautiful map. 

Schney bought the land and laid it off for the 
purpose of making by it all the money he possibly 
could, and it never occurred to him that he had 
been influenced by any other motive until the 


90 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

papers all declared that he had done a very liberal 
and public-spirited thing. Seeing this statement in 
print, he very properly concluded that it was true, 
and instantly believed it. Almost anybody will be- 
lieve a thoroughly agreeable lie. He then gradually 
convinced himself that he was a benefactor who de- 
served to be remembered, and finally decided to 
embalm his name in the principal street of his plan — 
“ Schney avenue.” At the suggestion of Mr. Tinkle, 
who had kindly consented to continue to be his 
agent, he added, with some justification, “ Pauline 
avenue” and “ Wilhelmina fountain.” Mr. Tinkle 
planted trees; the best engineers graded the streets; 
fashionable people bought lots. It was a gold mine. 

How is a poor fellow who feels that he is poor, 
and that he must continue to be poor, to preserve 
his self-respect and his faith in the dignity of labor 
and the worth of character, when he sees the defer- 
ence bestowed upon the Schneys and hears con- 
stantly their praises sung, and compares it all with 
the desolate neglect and indifference which it is his 
lot to endure? Is he not more than human if his 
heart is not made bitter when called upon to be 
cheerful, contented, and humble and honest, while 
the Schneys in the community push their way to 
wealth, influence, and a very satisfactory sort of re- 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 91 

spectability ? The awful question which faces the 
people is simply whether honesty will continue to 
be honest and suffer, or turn rascal and prosper. 

It is already quietly admitted that a thoroughly 
honest man, modelled on the old plan, may be very 
ornamental — a desirable sort of bric-a-brac — but can 
hardly be a business man, and certainly not a relia- 
ble man for political emergencies. Such people 
have a very hopeless and simple air to “ live ” men. 
Sometimes a rascal fails ; his associates laugh at him 
pleasantly, and, believing in his shrewdness, soon 
set him on his feet again with substantial aid. Then 
they give him good cheer. Good, cool contempt is 
reserved for the fellow who persists in uprightness 
at a terrible loss. 

The most pitiable object after all is the man who, 
no matter how, manages to get poor and stay so. 
Chronic poverty has pity occasionally and contempt 
constantly. Judged by the treatment it receives 
from humanity in general it is a most inexcusable 
crime. There may be some hope for a man who is 
low, mean, shrewd, and prospering; but let it once 
be known that a man is hopelessly poor, and his 
fate is sealed. What can be done for such a man ? 
He is beyond help ! 

Schney had thought much about money, and had 


92 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

learned all these things. He knew that his position 
in the community was viewed from different stand- 
points, and that he was variously estimated at every- 
thing from a nuisance to an ornament. He was 
engaged in an old business, called the pursuit of 
happiness, and thought he was on the right trail, 
hut he was really fighting his way to a place in life 
which would put an end to rest. 


CHAPTER VII. 

The Death of Grit. 

The new Council, with Schney left out, was hardly 
organized before Mr. Grit began to develop that 
peculiar, restless energy which in him always fore- 
shadowed the approach of an election. His soft 
felt hat got turned up behind and turned down be- 
fore ; his hands got deeper in his pockets, and his 
step quick and short. People began to stop him in 
the street and ask questions, which he answered 
with a bark and almost with a bite. He allowed 
his shoes to run down at the heel and his clothes to 
get shabby. Occasionally he chewed tobacco, to 
which he was not accustomed, with the expression 
of a dog eating grass. Every few days he consulted 
Mr. Estimate, watching him anxiously when he 
spoke. There was nothing ornamental about Grit, 
but he was practical utility compressed. People 
who knew him well said that in an emergency he 
was simply cooler and braver than usual. When 
the active spirits met for consultation Grit lead the 
meeting. 

Estimate was preparing in his own way for the 


94 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

conflict. He was rarely seen anywhere though he 
was really everywhere, and those who met him were 
amazed at what they supposed to be his utter indif- 
ference to the approaching storm. As he glided 
around with a sort of invalid air, abstracted or 
sleepy, he would he the last man a stranger would 
suspect of any schemes. He, nevertheless, had a 
few schemes, and the patience to wait for the proper 
time to launch them. He had already consulted 
privately with the leading men of every faction of 
both parties, and, without dispensing a single item 
of information, had learned more probably thar. 
any other one man knew.. His habit of learning 
without dispensing, and asking without answering, 
was so fixed that it was a torture for him to meet 
Grit and be compelled to part with one or two facts. 
For work on the suburbs Mr. Estimate used an old 
vehicle, which, by some mysterious means, was de- 
prived of the rattling characteristics of old vehicles 
generally, and which could turn a corner, on cobble 
stones, in the shades of evening, as smoothly and 
as noiselessly as a flat-bottomed boat glides around 
the curves of a canal, the ample flapping wings of 
the top concealing meanwhile the solitary driver. 
Late in the night this strange machine, drawn by a 
horse whose feet seemed to be muffled with velvet, 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 95 

would dart around the corners and frighten the 
police and the belated citizens homeward bound. 

That the approaching fight would be close and 
hard everybody admitted. Estimate was for sooth- 
ing every faction of his party and winning all of the 
enemy possible. Grit wanted to raise the party 
colors, demand a rally of the faithful, and show 
defiance to the enemy. Grit animated the pro- 
nounced and uncompromising, while Estimate ten- 
derly nursed the fearful and timid of his own party 
and encouraged desertions from the other side, say- 
ing, with an indescribable air of generosity, that, 
after all, the difference was slight, and that he could 
almost wish he was on both sides. 

% 

It soon became apparent that the leaders were 
not agreed on a plan of campaign. Indeed, it was 
pretty generally known that they were hopeless of 
success and on the verge of despair. Their only 
hope seemed to be to fool themselves or the enemy, 
but just how they could not tell. After the expen- 
diture of a perfectly frightful quantity of wisdom, a 
proceeding which was, to say the least, extrava- 
gance, it was decided “to count the enemy and 
count our friends; if the majority on our side was 
dangerously small, arrange to increase it, and if the 
enemy appeared to have a majority, arrange to can- 


96 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

cel it.” This idea was so entirely novel that every- 
body departed full of enthusiasm and hope and all 
went willingly to work. Two brass bands, in the 
habit of making big fees at election times, offered 
their services free, and they were declined with 
thanks. 

A full month before election day Mr. Estimate 
knew, practically, what the result would be, pro- 
vided nothing unusual happened. But something 
unusual did happen. Mr. Schney announced him- 
self a candidate for the Legislature, without taking 
the trouble to say which party he desired to repre- 
sent. He knew that neither party could afford to 
have him in the field as an independent, and that a 
simple announcement would enable him to deter- 
mine at his leisure which party should have the 
honor of electing him. He preferred to be with the 
better elements of the city, and was secretly con- 
vinced that he could compel Estimate and his 
friends to accept him, but was prepared, if it be- 
came necessary, to go over to the enemy. Knowing 
that success was certain if he sided with the lower 
elements and carried with him the liquor influence, 
and that on the other hand the endorsement of Esti- 
mate’s committee would give him the support of the 
dominant party and elect him, he serenely waited to 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 97 

be approached. The man who had been used as a 
bait had learned to cast a line for himself, had de- 
termined to do it, and had no favors to ask. 

The liquor-dealers all desired, like Schney, to vote 
with the decent people and the dominant party, but 
were always suspicious and uneasy, and ready at a 
moment’s notice to desert to the enemy if there 
were any signs of danger to their interests in the 
party movements. They, like other business men, 
felt that, after all, their allegiance was due first to 
business ; nothing so sacred as that ! The business 
man, whether he has time to utter it or not, thinks 
everybody else, and especially politicians, practically 
useless. He tolerates a few other men, in the kind- 
ness of his heart, such as preachers, lawyers, chem- 
ists, engineers, physicians, and so on, but after all 
feels, in a sort of fatherly way, that it is well for all 
these that they have him to lean upon. He is also 
inclined to the opinion that everything will work 
around all right if business prospers, and he rather 
thinks that the best way to keep politics, religion, 
and morals on their feet is to build up trade'; conse- 
quently he votes, with a sort of supermoral air, for 
the best interests of business. 

In announcing himself, Schney had at one stroke 
proved himself unworthy of confidence, and de- 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 


manded for himself the support of the people, fixing 
a penalty to their refusal — defeat. There was no- 
thing to he done but to make terms with him, and 
do it promptly. Accordingly that mysterious and 
wonderful body called “ the committee” got hur- 
riedly together, and after another perfectly reckless 
expenditure of the very rarest kind of wisdom, au- 
thorized Mr. Estimate to treat with Schney and 
guarantee him the party nomination. 

Nobody has yet discovered why it is that ten or 
twelve men, whose individual opinions and charac- 
ters have no weight whatever with anybody, can get 
together in a political committee and become the 
centre of wisdom and influence, and sway the des- 
tiny of a community. But so it is; at least people 
have gotten in the habit of submitting to their dic- 
tation as completely as if it was so. It is simply 
amazing, when one stops to think of it, what insig- 
nificant fellows do their own good pleasure with the 
helpless voters. 

Mr. Estimate dropped in the next morning, and 
was cordially received by Mr. Schney, who invited 
him to a cozy place, well back from the street, and 
quite private. Some very fine beer was handed to 
Mr. Estimate, who could drink it with the most in- 
nocent and orthodox air possible. To see Mr. Esti- 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 99 

mate drink beer was to confess that nothing could 
he more innocent. He handled his glass in a man- 
ner so gentle and caressing and so deferential that 
Schney himself was convinced of his sincere attach- 
ment to it contents, and determined to send him a 
dozen or two bottles that very day. And yet beer 
was one good thing in the world that Estimate 
could not learn to like. 

In a few minutes everything had been arranged, 
and Mr. Estimate was walking wearily along, exas- 
perating everybody by appearing hopelessly indif- 
ferent and stupid. When approached by anxious 
inquirers, he displayed two lustreless eyes, and 
opened his mouth with a dry explosion suggestive 
of fever and thirst. Instead of answering, he ques- 
tioned all. 

Everything, it is said, has its uses. Men like Mr. 
Estimate are therefore useful, and deserve to be 
protected in the enjoyment of their peculiar gifts. 
People who are of simpler construction sometimes 
envy them and sometimes fear them, and, if they 
can muster up manhood enough, despise them. 
They are apt to be influential and mean, and when 
they add ambition to their other qualities they either 
curse or bless, to its circumference, the circle of 
their influence. They make good politicians. 


100 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 


It was now a fixed fact that thousands of men 
had to vote for Schney, and that he was going to 
the Legislature to represent the greatest city in the 
State. Where universal suffrage prevails it is im- 
possible to nominate and elect men to representative 
positions on the ground of suitability, or capacity, 
or worth of any sort. Probably the greatest diffi- 
culty is experienced in the nomination, which is 
generally controlled by professional politicians, 
rather than in the election, which is simply a rati- 
fication by the people of the candidate of the poli- 
ticians. The determination of each party to win 
subordinates everything else. It is useless to object. 
When a poor helpless private citizen cries out and 
declares his unwillingness to choose between two 
rascals he is instantly held up to scorn as a man 
who thinks himself better than his party. Possibly 
he may be! Nobody has as yet declared in favor 
of the idea that parties are governed by any moral 
sense. 

When Schney became the nominee everything 
was considered settled and everybody was expected 
to acquiesce. The men who decided that he was 
the man had but one argument to support their 
action — he would be elected. Of course! But such 
victories bring inevitable defeat. 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 101 

Schney’s opponent was a man greatly superior to 
him in every sense, being a man of education, of 
fine natural ability, and of unimpeachable moral 
character; but he was in the wrong party, he was 
fearless, and he was aggressive. His election, de- 
sirable as it might be for some reasons, would 
endanger the civilization of the community. On 
the other hand, it appeared that the election of 
Schney would insure good government. The dan- 
gerous party had strengthened its cause with a good 
candidate, and the party which ought to triumph 
was loaded with Schney. 

Mr. Estimate knew that his formidable opponent 
would poll the full vote of the opposition, and that 
many of the temperance men would scratch Schney. 
Altogether the outlook was so discouraging that he 
resolved to be satisfied with a majority of one for 
his candidate. 

Grit was duly notified that every possible vote for 
Schney had to be polled, and that no time, money, 
or labor was to be spared to reduce the voting 
strength of the enemy. Victory was to be secured 
if toil and strategy could produce it. He was 
ordered to go to every stronghold of the enemy and 
to man every precinct with brave and determined 
challengers. He cheerfully undertook the heavy 


102 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 


task, distributed his men skillfully, and finally took 
personal charge of the most dangerous precinct in 
the city. 

Grit had worked unceasingly through the night 
preceding election day, and when the sun rose was 
pale and haggard and nervous. Friends supplied 
him an abundant breakfast, spoke cheering words, 
and wished him success. 

When the polls were opened a great throng of 
ignorance, black and white, was seen waiting in 
orderly silence to deposit its vote. It was a solid 
column of the enemy. Every voter was carefully 
questioned and the ballots slowly deposited, Grit 
protesting, arguing, and threatening. But still the 
little ballots slipped in, one by one, and the number 
waiting to vote was increased rather than dimin- 
ished. 

These people had no use for Schney, and were 
not respectable enough to be dragooned into voting 
for him. Their place in the world was so obscure 
that they were at liberty to suit themselves, and 
thought they were doing it. They thought so be- 
cause they had resisted all appeals made to them by 
the dominant party; but they overlooked the fact 
that, as a result, they had only the poor privilege 
of voting for the other side. 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 103 


The Constitution and laws under which we live — 
which we fondly suppose to be the things which 
govern us — are mutable things, which take on and 
execute with fearful and irresistible force the wishes 
of one majority to-day and of another to-morrow. 
Two great parties govern the country, and are in 
turn themselves governed by a few professional poli- 
ticians. The citizen who is not a politician votes, 
it is true ; but the issues are made for him, and his 
vote is demanded for the issue by his party, what- 
ever it may be, as confidently as the government 
demands taxes. The citizen grows less and less. 
The politician wields a sort of elephantiasis of 
power — diseased power — but yet power. “ Private 
citizen ” has got to mean a man who must vote and 
keep his mouth shut — must not presumptuously 
meddle with the country. Schney is at the helm, 
and the ship of state will be brought safely to har- 
bor! The people will therefore please go below 
and allow the hatches to be battened down. 

As the day wore away discontent manifested itself 
here and there by grum and sour looks and low 
mutterings in the crowds about the polls. It was 
evident that a number of votes would be shut out. 
Active politicians glided in, injected a little bitter- 
ness, and glided out again. 


104 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 


As the hour of closing drew nearer the crowd 
pressed closer and closer upon the polling-place, 
some of the bolder sovereigns loudly expressing their 
dissatisfaction at the deliberate manner of the chal- 
lengers. Grit, nearly exhausted, hut firm and pa- 
tient, stubbornly challenged every doubtful vote? 
and sighed when compelled to yield. Suddenly a 
crier announced that the hour had arrived to close 
the polls — that the polls were closed! A growl as- 
cended from the crowd as the door was closed. 
Immediately a squad of police swept around the 
corner, and with soft, low words, and gentle but 
suggestive pressure, began to move the disappointed 
voters away from the precinct. In a few moments 
the street was cleared, and silence reigned. 

As Grit entered the precinct to superintend the 
count and returns, he shook hands with a friend, 
and received from him something with a silvery 
glimmer (which his friend told him was “ a ham- 
merless, calibre 38 ”), and dropped it in the pocket 
of his spring overcoat. It was understood that the 
work would consume the night, and that it was dan- 
gerous. Several of Grit’s friends, besides police 
men, lingered near, ready to aid him in any emer- 
gency. 

For hours the slow and tiresome work went on 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 105 

inside. Those on the outside could hear the mo- 
notonous count — one, two, three, four, tally ! or the 
candidates’ names repeated over and over again, or 
Grit energetically protesting. At last, when the 
hour was past midnight, loud and angry words were 
heard — a mean fellow, a leader of the opposition, 
gave Grit the lie flatly. Instantly a gigantic police- 
man pressed the door with his shoulder until it 
flew open and hung trembling by one hinge. He 
saw Grit plant his fist, backed by every pound of 
his weight, square in the face of the man who had 
assaulted him, and then fall lifeless to the floor. A 
negro bar-keeper and politician, degraded even in 
the estimation of his own race, a known thief and 
libertine, had resented the blow received by his 
friend by firing a hall into the brain of the young 
lawyer. As soon as it was known that Grit’s 
wound was fatal silence settled upon all in the 
room. The murderer, speechless and trembling, 
walked away between two policemen. 

Grit lay stretched upon the floor, his bleeding 
head supported upon the folded coat of a friend who 
loved him like a brother, and who hung over him 
with mixed agony and wonder. His pain and grief, 
though great, did not prevent a deep feeling of re- 
gret that he had not been quick enough to get in 


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and at least stand by his brave friend at the critical 
moment. When he looked upon him, and realized 
for a moment that he was actually dead, he felt 
ashamed to be alive, and wondered how he would 
be able to endure himself. 

It was a simple thing after all — a vote and a pis- 
tol in the hands of a brute. Intelligence, virtue, 
patriotism, and courage cancelled by ignorance and 
a second-hand antiquated pistol ! And yet if Grit 
■had promptly pulled out his “ hammerless 38,” sil- 
ver-plated and new, and had saved his own valuable 
life by killing a worthless scoundrel, he would have 
been denounced in all probability by thousands who 
sincerely mourned over his death and admired his 
heroic behavior. 

It is still the fate and the duty of some people 
to die. Generally speaking, good men — the best 
men — are called upon to submit to the fate or to 
perform the duty. The commonplace man all over 
the country has long since abandoned the idea that 
anything like a mere theory or even a principle 
should interfere seriously with a man’s happiness, 
or damage him materially, or for a moment en- 
danger his life. He pities or despises the fanaticism 
and impractical folly of a man who gives his life for 
anything, and he is for yielding or compromising or 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 107 

surrendering, rather than have his peace and pros- 
perity disturbed, or his precious person put in 
jeopardy. Therefore, an occasional death which 
illustrates the fact that there are fears and hopes 
more potent than the love of life itself is a useful 
stimulus to principle and a valuable suggestion to 
the community in which it occurs. 

Every people needs a man dead who died for his 
fellow-citizens and in the manly pursuit of their 
rights as they interpret them. A grave which con- 
tains a sacrifice is an inspiration to all who view it, 
and, when properly adorned, an invaluable object-les- 
son worthy of the care of generation after generation. 

When people get to be thoroughly unwilling to 
die for their principles, and violently opposed to the 
death of others on their account, they are on the 
way to hopeless corruption. Nothing more prompt- 
ly clarifies the moral atmosphere than the tragic 
death of a great and good man, personifying a great 
and good cause. Heaven once used a scene like 
this to convince the world of sin. God spurns and 
men despise a cause which cannot furnish great 
spirits to be consumed by the conflict which it wages. 

In the morning the papers announced a victory 
shorn of much of its joy by the untimely death of 
Grit, 


CHAPTER VIII. 

The Modern Fool. 

People like to account for a man’s good fortune, 
and everywhere they inquire into its cause and 
wonder at its manifestations. We are told in one 
proverb, and no doubt truly, that fortune favors the 
brave, and in another, with equal confidence, the 
philosopher exclaims, “ A fool for luck.” 

In romances good fortune follows the author’s 
favorite, and the reader is made happy by the cun- 
ning fiction. In picturing the career of the Hon- 
orable Conrad Schney, however, no such deception 
is necessary. His fortune is as real as himself. 
That he was fortunate in business and in politics 
was so plainly to be seen that men ceased to won- 
der, and concluded that there must he in the man 
some mysterious and as yet undiscovered quali- 
ties that made him naturally and almost necessarily 
a leader of men. It was now pretty generally un- 
derstood — at least the Daily Spatterer said so — that 
at certain places and times, when it became neces- 
sary for him to speak, he had astonished his hearers 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 109 


by the fluency, power, and grace with which he de- 
livered himself. 

The impression was growing that Schney was 
another instance of the accidental discovery and 
fortunate development of great mental powers, des- 
tined to wield a powerful influence in the commu- 
nity, and possibly throughout the Commonwealth. 
It was already wise to speak of him with great re- 
spect, and foolish and damaging to do what was 
most natural, and laugh at him. It is useless, how- 
ever, to laugh at a man retired from business, re- 
siding in a palace, having a handsome fortune well 
in hand and an established reputation for rare 
sagacity and great experience in public affairs. Mr. 
Schney had already quietly retired from business, 
his successor was in possession and doing well, and 
the public had, with its usual accommodating spirit, 
forgotten that he was ever anything but a polished 
gentleman and born statesman. A man who dared 
to hint that the Honorable Conrad Schney was not 
thoroughly admirable simply strained the public 
faith in his own veracity. 

A man so wealthy, so active, and so prominent 
as Mr. Schney must have detractors, and so Mr. 
Schney secured a few at small cost — mean fellows, 
sour, misanthropic, and envious, such as can be 


110 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

found in every community, ready to pull down 
honorable aspirants by any foul slander heavy 
enough. These assassins of virtue strike at every 
rising man, impugn the motives of every patriot, 
and gradually accumulate such a store of venom 
that men avoid them until they need poison for an 
enemy. Such people, enraged by the wealth and 
rapid promotion of Mr. Schney, exhausted every 
art and all their deviltry in their efforts to damage 
him in the estimation of the public, but only embit- 
tered their own lives and exposed the inherent 
meanness of their characters. Schney, serenely in- 
sensible to it all, grew daily in favor with men. 

The Governor, seeing the popular demand for 
some recognition of the distinguished services of 
Mr. Schney, and willing to do what he could to 
silence the villainous attacks of his enemies, and for 
other reasons, no doubt, appointed him on his per- 
sonal staff, with the rank of colonel of cavalry. Of 
course the soreheads and the insignificant people 
who make up the rank and file began to insinuate 
that the Governor was acting from selfish motives 
and trying to secure the influence of Schney and 
his wealth in aid of some future schemes ; but those 
who were best informed and most influential soon 
crushed this slander. 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. Ill 

It leaked out, from what or from where was never 
known, that Schney was no novice in military mat- 
ters, had even won distinction in foreign fields years 
ago, and was no small acquisition to the staff. Un- 
prejudiced people readily accepted this view of the 
matter, and began to have a suspicion that the 
Colonel had been hiding a brilliant military record 
under a thick, heavy, long cloak of curiosity-proof 
modesty. Indeed, the Colonel’s extreme reticence 
about all his past, and especially the success with 
which he avoided any vain allusions to his military 
exploits, excited the admiration of the large and 
brilliant circle in which he moved and convinced 
all of the best people that he was a man of rare 
strength, with possibly an interesting history behind 
him. One ride through crowded streets, clad in 
glittering uniform, sitting in an open carriage by 
the side of the Governor, his sword reclining against 
his side, his countenance properly arranged to create 
an impression — and he was Colonel indeed! 

It might seem a simple thing to ride in a carriage 
with a proper expression and maintain it unbroken 
for an hour or two, and possibly to a Governor 
accustomed to the arduous duty of always looking 
distinguished it is an every-day, easy affair; but 
Colonel Schney, not being accustomed to the work, 


112 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

found that it was no small matter to look like a 
colonel, without a moment’s escape from the gaze 
of the multitude for nearly two hours, and was 
glad when the parade was over and he could once 
more bend a little and rest his countenance and his 
spine. It required several days’ time, however, to 
thoroughly eradicate the fierce and determined ex- 
pression engendered by the stern necessities of the 
occasion. It may seem inexplicable that a ride in a 
carriage under military circumstances should affect 
a man’s walk, but, strange and unaccountable as it 
may be, from that day the Colonel had a decidedly 
soldierly bearing and responded promptly, with a 
brisk salute, to all who addressed him by his mili- 
tary title. There were some old, rather shabby 
American colonels who watched Schney with inex- 
pressible amusement. They did not find it possible 
to say anything, or necessary, but simply pointed at 
the Colonel, punched each other in the ribs, and 
then chuckled. All this was done privately, of 
course, because these old soldiers had learned that, 
while titles of a military sort are very desirable and 
very useful when presented to some gentlemen 
absolutely innocent of any right to them, and serve 
admirably to confer a little dignity or help on an 
aspiration, the genuine rank gained by arduous 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 113 


duty and heroic conduct should be careful, being 
somewhat antiquated, not to flaunt itself in the face 
of a peaceful era or presume to compare its honest 
but ancient record with the brilliant career of a 
modern patriot. These old fellows had heard it 
said that it was unreasonable to expect able men 
like Colonel Schney to wait for honors until all the 
real soldiers were dead, and that the eulogy “good 
soldier” had been sufficiently rewarded. And so it 
has come to pass that it is decidedly presumptuous 
to expect any consideration on account of a military 
title unless it can be clearly shown that the title was 
not earned honestly in war, but conferred especially 
for immediate business purposes. When thus con- 
ferred it is eminently proper to make the most of it, 
and nobody expects any modest behavior from the 
fortunate recipient. It is, of course, quite a differ- 
ent thing when a man goes about allowing people 
to call him “colonel” when the title calls public 
attention to what he has really done and suffered. 
Such conduct is inexcusable. 

The “House” had been organized only a few days 
when Mr. Tinkle dropped in to see Colonel Schney 
on a little matter of business, and was received as 
cordially as even a confidential friend can hope to 
be received by a man accustomed to the considera- 


114 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

tion of the great and the admiration of thousands 
of plain, humble people. A private room, wine, 
cigars. The wine was for Mr. Tinkle only, for 
Schney was no more tempted hy liquor to drink, 
knowing as he did its power over men, than an 
undertaker would be to die and be buried by the 
sight of a handsomely-trimmed and expensive burial 
casket. 

“ I congratulate you upon your triumphant elec- 
tion, my friend,” said Tinkle, “and I am glad to be 
the. bearer of still more good news. How would 
you like to become the owner of the Stemmery 
mansion?” 

“The Stemmery mansion? To own it, did you 
say ? ” 

“Yes, my dear sir, and live there ! ” 

“ Why, my good friend, you are quite wild, and 
think I am a millionaire already, to talk about such 
a thing.” 

“Never was more in earnest, Colonel. Will you 
buy the place ? ” 

“ But I am not able ; my place at Braxton’s is a 
good home yet.” 

“ Suppose I offered you the Stemmery mansion 
in exchange for the Braxton place ? ” 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 115 

“ Then I would say you were losing your senses — 
gone c-r-r-razy.” 

“ Say the word then/’ said Tinkle, “and the ex- 
change is made ! I will arrange everything; write 
your deed, take your signature and the madame’s, 
and in exchange give you a perfect title to the new 
place.” 

“ Why, of course; if such a thing is possible, why, 
of course. If I can have the Stemmery house I will 
take it, ha! ha! of course! ” 

“ To-morrow, then,” said Tinkle, scarcely able to 
hide his pleasure, and hurrying away; “to-morrow 
the papers will be signed and recorded.” 

Mr. Schney knew that Mr. Tinkle was credited 
with having performed some miracles in real estate, 
and that his fame as a brilliant operator saved him 
from any lack of patronage on account of the almost 
universal suspicion that he was a rascal, and would 
not have been much surprised if Tinkle had sold 
some of his lots for him at five times their value ; 
but this proposition overpowered what the Daily 
Spatterer called his “great mental powers,” and 
rushed with resistless fury upon his “ reserve force,” 
scattering it to the winds. Nothing in legislative 
experience had ever so taxed his splendid powers. 


116 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

It was in vain that he sought some reasonable expla- 
nation. 

Schney’s home was a plain, substantial, roomy 
old house, comfortable enough, but not well situ- 
ated. The surroundings could not be agreeable to 
a man of Mr. Schney’s position and tastes. The 
Stemmery mansion had been recently completed, at 
a great expense, in the most fashionable and delight- 
ful part of the city. Its owner, a comparatively 
young man who had inherited a handsome fortune, 
had tried to build the quietest and at the same time 
the most elegant house in the city, and had, it was 
generally admitted, succeeded in his effort. The 
exterior was an almost perfect success, and the inte- 
rior simply palatial. But the owner, seized by an 
almost unaccountable prejudice, was anxious to try 
a new architect and new T effects in stone. He de- 
sired to sell. 

When Tinkle approached him with an offer, 
Stemmery, supposing it to be only a move in some 
sharp game, named his price, signed an agreement 
to sell, and soon obliterated the transaction with a 
game of billiards. The next day, to his great sur- 
prise, he was asked to sign the deed. A certified 
check for the whole of the purchase-money accom- 
panied the request. The same day Schney’s home, 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 117 


the old Braxton homestead, passed by deed to the 
P. and Q. Terminal Company, and the mystery was 
solved. The counsel of the company had ascer- 
tained that there were some serious difficulties in 
the way of condemnation. It happened to occupy 
a spot absolutely essential to the success of the great 
tunnelling scheme of the P. and Q. Terminal Com- 
pany, and hundreds of thousands, if not a million 
of dollars, depended upon its possession. The man- 
agement determined to take no risks. Mr. Tinkle 
became, almost as a matter of course, the efficient 
agent of the company, completed the task assigned 
him, and received his reward. 

At the end of six months the Spatterer had an- 
nounced the removal of “The Honorable Conrad 
Schney” to his new residence in the “court” end 
of the city, and fifty Swedes were toiling over the 
ruins of the Braxton house, now laid low by a 
dynamite cartridge. The tunnel was well under 
the hill. Mr. Tinkle had in the mean time made 
another very satisfactory arrangement. The trus- 
tees of the fund for the erection of the great “ astro, 
nomical tower” having accepted a site in the midst 
of “ Schney’s addition,” the grandest structure of 
its kind in the world was slowly rising from the 
centre of a miniature park. It was almost a cer- 


118 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 


tainty that the tract would soon be the scene of 
costly improvements and the value of it a million. 
Choice lots were eagerly sought, and, of course, 
very reluctantly sold. The Legislature, always 
keenly alive to the interests of the great commer- 
cial centres of the State, was seriously considering 
a bill to extend the corporate limits around this val- 
uable tract. 

Colonel Schney, in addition to his arduous duties 
as representative of the metropolitan city, under 
took service on important hoards, to which he was 
from time to time appointed by the Governor, 
giving to them all the benefit of his great skill and 
experience in business affairs and stimulating his 
associates by the display of almost superhuman 
energy. At least, so said the Spatterer, and for all 
practical purposes so it was. 

The end of a long and tedious session left the 
Colonel free to seek the repose to which his emi- 
nent services entitled him and his natural inclina- 
tions invited him. He realized with pitiful force 
the awful weight of the responsibilities of a man 
viewed by a great community as the natural guardian 
of their rights and of their liberty, and secretly 
cherished the hope that the people would find some 
one else to assume the burden he had laid down. 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 119 

His great trouble, at this time, was a gnawing fear 
that possibly no one could be found ! 

During his retirement Colonel Schney rapidly 
acquired some of the marks peculiar to men who 
have had their great qualities acknowledged by the 
world. Though he had a reputation for overwhelm- 
ing power in oratory, he was a man of few words 
in the private circle, often expressing his approval 
or dissent by a single exclamation of the kind most 
aptly called a grunt. This single mode of expres- 
sion was peculiarly effective at the meetings of a 
large and fashionable church, of which he was a 
prominent and valued member, and rarely failed to 
produce almost phenomenal results. Other men 
there argued, illustrated, and pressed with fervor 
their views, only to be annihilated by the portentous 
grunt of the man of affairs and of means. When- 
ever a presumptuous or vain fellow was laid low by 
the magic mumbling of the Colonel the plainer 
brethren gazed long and wistfully at his heavy 
countenance, and then, with a sigh indicative of 
mixed wonder and humility, turned and looked at 
each other, nodding their heads, with wide-open 
eyes and dropped jaw, saying as plainly as panto- 
mime could: “Ah! brethren, there wisdom spoke!” 
Then the pastor would say he “ was sure the breth- 


120 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 


ren felt under heavy obligations to Brother Schney 
for his well-timed and forcible words,” and that 
“ he hoped our dear brother would be spared many 
years to guide us by his wisdom and teach us by his 
beautiful example.” 

The great veneration of the people for the Colonel 
was manifested in many ways, but probably nowhere 
else could it he so plainly seen as when he sat as 
director of the Hide and Bones Bank and passed 
upon great piles of commercial paper. In order to 
turn down a very large loan it was sometimes neces- 
sary for him to grunt, once, vigorously; but he 
usually settled the fate of the smaller offerings by 
spitting in an exasperated manner. This style of 
comment was instantly recognized by the board to 
mean “ rejected,” and always caused a general smile, 
designed to express, as nearly as possible, full assent 
to the decision and keen appreciation of the Colo- 
nel’s humorous manner. 

The Colonel had now reached that degree of dis- 
tinction which is marked by a desire for a better 
style of atmosphere than cities can generally sup- 
ply, Atmosphere which had answered his purpose 
pretty well for many years, and which was still used 
with entire satisfaction by numbers of people who 
could not afford a better article, he found at times 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 121 


very unsatisfactory. Sometimes, unable longer to 
restrain himself, he complained of it in bitter terms. 
It was really distressing. At last, convinced that 
the atmosphere was hopelessly bad, the Colonel 
hurried away to the sea-shore, determined to have, 
at any cost, the very best air the market afforded. 

Colonel Schney actually believed that he had de- 
termined to escape from public life and seek that 
quiet enjoyment of his ample means which is the 
dream of all men who spend their lives in the pur- 
suit of wealth. He felt that his past activity had 
made him too well known for his escape to be easy, 
and that nothing but good management and inge- 
nuity and persistence in retirement could preserve 
him from fresh entanglement in public matters. 
The man had learned more than his most ardent 
admirers supposed he had, and actually began to 
realize that political honors could not add much 
comfort or pleasure to his life, and might be a posi- 
tive discomfort. He was almost resolved to do the 
smartest thing of his life: Retire into obscurity and 
comfort. 



CHAPTER IX. 

Mina’s Refuge. 

In his home, elegant in all its parts, Colonel 
Schney enjoyed the constant affection and humble 
devotion of a wife so greatly his superior that many 
people not yet blinded by his wonderful career 
wondered how two such people had ever blended 
into man and wife and then lived so peacefully and 
happily together. The wife had grown in grace 
and gentleness even more rapidly than the husband 
had grown rich, and amid all the splendor of the 
home there was nothing more attractive than the 
quiet Pauline. Abundant means had put into visi- 
ble effect her innate taste, and she was in manner 
and attire the mistress of her home. 

Mina filled the house with music and songs so 
rare as to be almost a mystery. Mixing the artless- 
ness of a child with the skill of a woman, she petted 
and fondled and controlled her mother. and con- 
stantly mystified her father. She had never ap- 
proved of her father’s public career, but was yet 
proud of his success, and even admired him, in the 
sense that the public did, without yielding to him 


124 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 


any greater credit than he deserved. She had not 
forgotten her childhood or her father’s past, and her 
honest heart compelled her to review, with a mind 
now capable of close analysis, all of the old life. 
She recalled with inexpressible pain the pathetic life 
of her gentle mother and the awful surroundings 
amidst which her own life began, and even proved 
to herself that much of it all resulted from her 
father’s deliberate choice. And so she loved her 
father, and at the same time studied him as a mys- 
terious relative close to her by the ties of nature, 
yet infinitely removed. 

Thus most cruelly does a man’s crime punish 
him, using as instruments of torture those for 
whom he sacrificed his virtue — and those whom he 
strove to bless to illustrate his failure. 

Mina could not understand her father, because, 
in her narrow and brief experience of life, she had 
not discovered how one serious fault, or one con- 
scious surrender of principle, or even one serious 
indiscretion, warps and disfigures a man. She could 
not know that her father, slowly perceiving what 
manner of man he was, began to suspect his own 
worthiness and exaggerate the worthiness of others. 
She did not know that some men — even some con- 
sidered dull — recognize and evade men or women 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 125 

of superior virtue, and are humbled in the presence 
of a strong character, which they admire and would 
gladly imitate if they could. She had yet to learn 
that men are repulsive and ridiculous, not because 
of many faults, but because some one sin or misfor- 
tune or weakness twists and distorts everything in 
their lives. 

She did not know that under a calm exterior her 
father carried a heavy load of care, nor was it possi- 
ble for her to know how depraved his ambition and 
his success had made him. 

Every soul confesses to itself at least, and does 
ample penance in secret. Men are vainer on the 
surface than anywhere else, and, though generally 
anxious to have the good opinion and the good-will 
of others, do not, so commonly as some suppose, 
think too highly of themselves. It is only the great 
fools who are thoroughly deceived and permanently 
conceited. An ordinary man cannot be an extra- 
ordinary fool. 

The truth is, that many a brave man accepts the 
estimate of himself which his honest mind makes, 
and, manfully refusing to be deceived by others, 
lives contentedly in the condition and in the pursuit 
for which he is fitted. When the strong motives to 
self-assertion and the great rewards it brings are 


120 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 


considered, the wonder is that so many are con- 
tented to be themselves* 

The men most in danger are those who occupy 
positions, comparatively humble they may be, which 
confer upon them a sort of right to criticise, and at 
the same time protect them from the same ordeal. 
Pointing out constantly the faults or failures of 
many others, who are forbidden to reply, gradually 
exalts a man in his own estimation, if in no other 
way, by contrasting . the small number of his own 
faults with the number and variety of faults in the 
multitude he overlooks. 

Schney, by abject surrender to the idea, first, that 
he must make money and then that he must have 
honors, was led into a life full of perils for himself 
and for his family. Those perils which surrounded 
him in the old life, though numerous, were palpable 
and more readily avoided by a simple-minded man. 
The higher life swarmed with insidious evils which 
none but the strongest could resist. 

Schney knew that his darling daughter, the pride 
of his house, was inexorably honest, and that her 
love for him was a constant triumph of natural 
affection. He trembled at the thought of her utter 
estrangement, and was never so happy or so humble 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 127 


as when she laid her head on his bosom and thanked 
him for some thoughtful kindness. 

One evening Mina sung, with a depth of feeling 
almost painful to herself, a song of ravishing beauty, 
which filled her mother’s heart with vague distress 
and brought unwilling tears to her eyes. The 
father, generally indifferent or simply vain, listened 
with unusual interest, and when the song was ended 
exclaimed: “It is beautiful! I will give you any- 
thing!” Then, turning to his wife, he said : “Pau- 
line, I have been a great fool ! ” 

As the three sat looking at each other with tear- 
ful eyes Mr. Curbing was announced. Mrs. Schney 
and Mina welcomed him with evident pleasure, and 
the Colonel with all the politeness he could com- 
mand. All that pertains to the manner and charac- 
ter of a gentleman came in with Mr. Curbing. 
Mina had discovered him at the Professor’s house, 
and had, without external aid, discerned his worth. 
She felt a quiet confidence in his goodness which 
made her wish to have him for a friend. lie soon 
felt the power of her confidence and trust, and 
though a man unwilling to yield to the appeals of 
others for sympathy, and still more unwilling to 
accept it for himself, could not resist this appeal 
from a girl who was beautiful and intelligent and 


128 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 


musical, and who seemed to be strangely alone in 
the world. He made rapid discoveries also, and 
was compelled to admit that beauty and music had 
introduced him to a character well worth his atten- 
tion and study. 

A man of rare purity and gentleness had met a 
woman who compelled him to admit — to himself, of 
course, and only to himself — that it would be a 
blessed thing to have a secure place in her heart. 
Her surroundings and her family had no effect upon 
him, because he had the happy faculty of regarding 
men and women, whether his friends or enemies, as 
separated from all their kin and all their friends, 
and as having relations with him only. He had 
never allowed his estimate of any one to be affected 
by any characteristic or any act of a relative of any 
degree. Neither was his estimate of himself changed 
one degree up or down when he considered his own 
kin. 

Curbing was a man of a kind rather rare, who 
insist upon separateness of life, and live, without 
reproach, in their own way. When he made Mina 
his friend he felt that he had enlarged his very small 
circle of friends considerably, and that he had made 
a move as satisfactory as it was bold. If any of his 
half-dozen of intimates had insinuated that he was 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 129 

in love with Mina he would have felt that it was his 
duty to avoid her at any sacrifice; but no one made 
the charge, and he was left to enjoy undisturbed the 
luxury of her society. She was his only female 
friend. Even now, though he strove to deceive 
himself and think otherwise, he would have aban- 
doned every other friend and relative rather than 
Mina. 

Colonel Schney was not much interested in Curb- 
ing, and stayed only long enough to hide his anxiety 
to go. Business furnished an ample apology. The 
scene was brighter when he went out, because he 
left together three people who, though they differed 
in some things, were in close sympathy in many. 
They were all pure, all simple-hearted, and all in 
love with the best things in human nature. 

Greatly to the disgust of his more practical friends, 
Mr. Curbing had devoted a large part of his time 
to music, and was master of the piano. There were 
times when he realized that his skill as a musician 
was rather damaging to him in certain quarters, and 
if he had been dependent upon patronage of any 
kind for support he would have been obliged to 
abandon or hide his talent. As her father closed 
the door behind him Mina rose and took her violin 
from its case, while Mr. Curbing advanced to the 


130 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 


piano, rubbing bis hands together and smiling, and 
immediately struck the first notes of an accompani- 
ment. Mina, standing close beside him, played with 
a face radiant with pleasure. The mysterious sweet- 
ness of the violin seemed striving to escape — impa- 
tient to be gone and be free — while she restrained 
it with the measured movements of the bow and 
soothed it with the soft touch of her fingers. Every 
note from the piano hastened, in gorgeous livery, to 
join the train of some beauty escaping from the 
violin. Curbing answered the appealing tones of 
the violin by robbing the key-board of all its choicest 
treasures. 

It was the perfection of music, made perfect by 
the sympathy of the players, and all its weird lan- 
guage was interpreted by the unspoken love in the 
heart of the woman. 

One of Mr. Curbing’s peculiarities was his ability 
to go where be would and do what he would with- 
out exciting curiosity. A journey from home, last- 
ing a week or a month, never suggested a farewell, 
and he could return without the slightest intima- 
tion that he had been away. If he had ever had a 
trouble he had never mentioned it. His pleasures 
seemed to be complete without exposure or mention 
to his nearest friends. He belonged to that small 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 131 


and mysterious class of men who enjoy thinking 
without speaking; can he alone and not lonely; full 
of information without imparting it; intelligent and 
capable without showing it; known to everybody 
and intimate with nobody; without grievous faults 
or striking virtues; without enemies and with few 
friends, and exasperatingly contented. 

Everybody supposed but nobody knew that Mr. 
Curbing had an income sufficient for his support, 
which came from some source which he had never 
taken the trouble to mention, and, as he never asked 
questions, nobody had ever questioned him on this 
point. His friends knew him too well to do it, and 
other people did not know him well enough. 

People who did not know Mr. Curbing regarded 
him as a painfully peculiar man, and in return Mr. 
Curbing looked upon the bulk of mankind as un- 
bearably peculiar. But even that immense fact did 
not disturb for a moment his equanimity. He was 
so determined to be unruffled that he never con- 
sented to the idea that he was hungry until he found 
himself enjoying a good meal, and though quite a 
traveller never had his destination so fixed in his 
plans that he could not with perfect comfort take a 
train going in the opposite direction. It was said 
that his hour for retiring was when he was irresisti- 


132 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 


bly sleepy, and that his hour for rising was deter- 
mined on about the same principle. Everything he 
had belonged to him and was his servant — never his 
master. When he had smoked his pipe he laid it 
down where he was and trusted to luck to find it 
again. If he didn’t find it he didn’t care. He read 
his books, but never worried about them. In his 
own apartments he left things disarranged to suit 
himself. 

Of course it was not difficult for Mr. Curbing to 
walk about, the day after his musical evening with 
Mina, looking as if he had never paid a visit in his 
life, and never would. Occasionally he halted on a 
corner to let himself strike out in a new direction, 
without positively selecting it or determining how 
far he would go, and sometimes after he had started 
looked as if he might stop at any moment. 

Mr. Curbing seemed to have been made for the 
very purpose of showing that it is possible for a man 
to be comfortable. If there was a man anywhere 
prepared to marry a fortune and get all the good out 
of it without any of the worry, he was the man. 
Of course if he married Mina it would come about, 
in some way, without any very decided resolution on 
his part. He had an idea that he would marry her, 
and on one or two occasions came so near fixing 



OCCASIONALLY HE HALTED ON A CORNER 
TO LET HIMSELF STRIKE OUT IN A NEW 
DIRECTION. 






















V 



































OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 133 

on a definite time for it that he was positively 
excited. 

Thus warned, he persisted afterwards in thinking 
of the matter without reference to time or place. 
Sometimes, in order to he perfectly composed, he 
found it necessary to remind himself that it was not 
absolutely certain that he would marry anybody, 
anywhere, at any time; and then, as if to illustrate 
the uncertainties of life, would commence to light a 
cigar, change his mind and take a pipe, fill it, lay it 
down, and, instead of smoking, drink a cup of coffee. 

All that was needed to make the peculiarities of 
Curbing perfectly excusable was that the public 
should be thoroughly satisfied that he was indepen- 
dent. As long as there was any room for doubt on 
that point it was proper to regard him as a rather 
worthless sort of fellow, doomed to experience, 
sooner or later, the sorrows of a man who had 
wasted in indecision the best years of his life. 
Many careful estimates of Mr. Curbing’s real value 
as a man, and many wise prophecies concerning his 
future, were rendered worthless by the fact that no 
one had considered the possible effect, in his case, 
of marrying an heiress. 

The wise men and the prudent were all wasting 
their fears. This man without a purpose, who de- 


134 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 


spised order and hated decision, was already selected 
by Providence to illustrate the value of some traits 
of character which the world despises as long as 
possible and worships when it must. 

The public objected to Mr. Curbing because he 
seemed to live without giving the slightest attention 
to those practical affairs which enslave most men, 
and because, notwithstanding this evident and seri- 
ous fault, he succeeded in being quite as comfortable 
and happy as the most practical and industrious man 
of business. 

Mr. Curbing’s eccentricities had a simple and 
honest origin. He had looked about him very care- 
fully, and had concluded that the practical people 
were conducting their affairs in a manner perfectly 
satisfactory to him; that the world in general was 
getting along pretty well, and that no wisdom or 
skill such as he possessed was imperatively needed 
anywhere. He thought, of course, that if anybody 
had thought he was needed anywhere, he would 
have been told about it. It had never occurred to 
him that he was of any importance whatever. He 
was thoroughly worthy and modest, and therefore 
an unexplained mystery. If he had been as poor 
as many supposed he was, he would have died from 
want and neglect, leaving, perhaps, as a legacy to 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 135 


mankind, a song, or a poem, or a story, to live for- 
ever. But he had an income, and lived, and wrote 
nothing. It is probable that he was so happy that 
fame had no attractions for him. 

It is said that men who are to be destroyed are 
first made mad. It might be said with as much 
truth, that men who are to be famous are first made 
miserable. All men who earn the title “ great” 
sweat, as it were, blood. 

Mr. Curbing was so determined to be contented 
and happy, and so much opposed to being destroyed, 
that he kept himself in a good-humored sanity all 
the time, and positively declined the most flattering 
invitations to be miserable. There were times when 
he had such a realization of the near approach of 
his wedding with Mina, and felt so certain of it, that 
all his old tricks failed to restore him to his usual 
state of uncertainty. Driven to his last resort, he 
would go out and hunt up a few slight acquaint- 
ances, and for two days at a time conduct himself 
very much like the balance of the world. This 
always satisfied him that there was still an element 
of uncertainty in life and in matrimonial intentions, 
and for a while, at least, relieved him of the feeling 
that he had absolutely determined to be married. 
Then he could enjoy a smoke. 


CHAPTER X. 

Tiie Public Horrified. 

Colonel Schney having for a long time persisted 
in actively retiring from public notice, and having 
energetically refused to take the slightest risk of 
being nominated for anything whatever, was begin- 
ning to be sought after. All intelligent observers 
could see that there were great vacancies in every 
direction which could only be filled by the very 
largest and best men, and that the very best sort of 
men were unusually hard to find. In such a state 
of affairs it was natural that the mention of a 
vacancy or the necessity for a nomination should 
suggest at once the fitness of the Colonel. 

The Colonel’s friends were greatly perplexed by 
the simple fact that there were several important 
positions to fill, all needing the best ability, and 
only one man who seemed designed by Providence 
to fill either of them, and that man trying his very 
best to retire into that delightful obscurity which all 
men, weary and wealthy, crave. 

Everybody seemed to be agreed that the Colonel 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 137 


must be again put in the service of the people, the 
only thing to be decided being in what capacity he 
could serve to the best advantage. Some very wise 
men, who had been particularly struck with the 
wonderful natural powers of the Colonel, thought 
that he was eminently fitted for the bench, though 
not a trained lawyer, and that if placed there he 
would be almost invaluable. Others, captivated by 
the eloquence and logical force of the Colonel’s 
speeches, as described by the Daily Spatterer, were 
furious at the idea of muzzling him by making him 
a judge, and warmly in favor of sending him to the 
Senate. These two wings of the Colonel’s army 
of admirers pushed their respective schemes, and 
though both propositions were well received by the 
public, there was a mysterious indifference about 
the matter which was never explained until it be- 
came known that still another influential circle of 
public-spirited gentlemen had decided that the 
Colonel must be made to accept the nomination of 
the party for Governor of the State. 

When the suggestion came out it created a wild 
burst of enthusiasm — old inhabitants said the wild- 
est they had ever known — which extended as far as 
the utmost circulation of the Spatterer could carry 
it. The man and the occasion had met. The en- 


138 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 


thusiasm of the people was absolutely uncontrol- 
lable. Meetings were held to protest against the 
necessity of a convention and urge the Colonel to 
announce himself at once. All other aspirants 
promptly withdrew, and some even declared it 
would be criminal for any man to oppose a candi- 
date who seemed to be nominated by heaven to 
save the State from imminent, irretrievable ruin. 
What could the Colonel do? 

For once in the history of the State the political 
machinery came to a stand-still. All idea of a con- 
vention was abandoned. 

At a grand dinner, arranged by the leading men 
of the State, the Colonel was naturally the centre of 
interest. In a practical, business way, the situation 
was discussed and all present were made to feel the 
necessity of a candidate who could command money 
and who could quiet the fears of all the sensitive 
factions of the party. It was clearly shown by able 
speakers that the great mass of intelligent and pa- 
triotic people in the State would vote for any one 
who should happen to he the nominee, and that the 
important thing to do was that which would satisfy 
the lowest element in the State — those who stub- 
bornly vote to suit themselves and their own in- 
terest. Practically the meeting determined to rely 


our Distinguished felloW-citizen. 139 


upon the conscientious people to do whatever the 
politicians required, in spite of their personal feel- 
ings and interests, and to secure the votes of the 
wavering and unprincipled by any concessions 
necessary. As usual the decent people were re- 
quested to abandon their unreasonable prejudices 
in order that the big-necked and low-browed work- 
ers of the leaders might not have their feelings hurt. 

The Colonel was unanimously requested to an- 
nounce himself at once, in order that a vigorous 
campaign might be immediately planned. It even 
appeared, from occasional remarks by the speakers, 
that the campaign was to be a campaign for the 
education of the people, and that it was to be 
directed against those people who imagined that 
they knew things — the intelligent and conceited 
people — who would always object to some political 
methods. People, for instance, who objected to 
Colonel Schney on any ground whatever were to 
be “slam-banged” and ridiculed by the soft and 
youthful canvassers until they were thoroughly hu- 
miliated, if not absolutely ruined. It was intimated 
that scores of young men, who hoped some day to 
be candidates for something on their own account, 
were ready to take the stump and educate the igno- 
rant people all over the State to such a degree that 


140 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 


they would see the importance of a victory though 
it should be necessary, in order to secure it, to sink 
every principle of the party and of morals, and 
elect to the offices of the Commonwealth the scum 
of the earth. The amount of personal sacrifice that 
could be secured for use in the campaign was said 
to be enormous. 

All of this enthusiasm was in the papers, whose 
editors wrote that there was enthusiasm, and read 
in other papers that there was enthusiasm, and 
amongst the politicians, who said there was tremen- 
dous enthusiasm, and heard other politicians make 
the same assertion. The editors read each others’ 
writings, and the politicians heard each others’ talk, 
until they thought the whole State was in a fer- 
ment. Then the people read the papers and lis- 
tened to the politicians until each man, feeling 
utterly indifferent himself, wondered why every- 
body else was so worked up. 

One of the marvels of the century is the fact that 
millions of perfectly indifferent people, who know 
they are indifferent, can be worked up to a frenzy of 
excitement simply by being told every day persist- 
ently that they are in a wild state of enthusiasm. It 
does not seem strange that a man will believe any- 
thing he hears about another, but it is a little remark- 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 141 

able that a man will believe a lie about himself — and 
gradually conform himself to a lie — which is only 
another form of the old proverb: “You may as 
well kill a dog as give him a bad name.” 

At a subsequent dinner the Colonel reluctantly 
consented to assume the arduous and distasteful du- 
ties and responsibilities so persistently thrust upon 
him, and in a speech “replete with wisdom, calm, 
dignified, and impressive” (Spatterer), announced 
his intention to go to work at once, and, if possible, 
to lead in the efiort to educate the helpless thou- 
sands of the Commonwealth into some appreciation 
of the sagacity and patriotism of those engaged in 
the campaign. 

The fact of the Colonel’s acceptance was tele- 
graphed in every direction, and caused another tre- 
mendous burst of enthusiasm in the newspapers. 
When a plain, simple-hearted citizen got his hands 
on a paper, and read in big type, “ Schney Accepts ! ! 
Unbounded Enthusiasm!” he immediately felt 
ashamed of himself to find that he was outside of 
the unbounded enthusiasm, and wondered why he 
had been made so utterly different from thousands of 
good people around him. Then possibly he dashed 
away a tear and resolved to be a better man. 

Colonel Schney walked home from that dinner 


142 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 


filled with tangled thoughts of the past, the present, 
and the future; the past dim and shadowy, the 
present mysterious, and the future full of uncer- 
tainty and dread. 1ST o gleam of brightness entered 
his heart. The great honor he was about to receive 
he now knew was more than he could accept with 
any possible satisfaction to himself. He knew that 
the honor would be a hollow fraud, and that he 
would be an unhappy fraud, compelled to laugh or to 
sneer at himself. He actually began to see that his 
honors were only so many certificates of his willing- 
ness to be the tool of others who had discovered 
and used his weakness and vanity. At the hour 
when he thought his ambition would be crowned, 
and his life would open before him in all the beauty 
of realized hopes, and bid him walk in scented and 
shady ways from dignity to dignity, he felt instead 
the clanking irons hammered on by conscience, and 
lay a prisoner, bereft of hope, in a narrow cell built 
of his own convictions. With this vision of truth 
compressing his heart the Colonel fell asleep to 
wake no more. 

Between midnight and morning a man clad in a 
workman’s garb — young, active, and strong — en- 
tered the sleeping man’s room, and with two or 
three long strides placed himself by the bedside of 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 143 


his victim. He calmly surveyed the Colonel, noting 
apparently his exact position, gave a careful look at 
his throat, and then with a firm, slow, heavy hand 
drew a wire-edged shoemakers knife across his 
throat just above the collar-bone, and on one side 
severing like a flash the great artery. Death was 
instantaneous. In the morning the bed and the 
man made a sight ghastly enough to shock a 
coroner. 

It is useless to attempt any description of the dis- 
tress of his poor wife and daughter. Fortunately 
Mrs. Schney was so prostrated that unconsciousness 
came to her relief. Mina suffered with every fac- 
ulty aroused. After doing all she could for her 
mother she dispatched a messenger for Curbing, 
who soon arrived, and was shown without delay to 
Mina’s own sitting room. What was said in that 
interview nobody will ever know. In the afternoon 
they were married in the parlor in the presence of 
two or three witnesses. That night Mina and her 
mother occupied apartments at a hotel. Curbing 
was their guardian. Neither of the women ever 
entered the old home again. 

The papers made every effort to express the hor- 
ror and indignation of the people at such a cold- 
blooded piece of butchery. The editors vied with 


144 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 


each other in the production of feeling and impres- 
sive editorials — The Spatterer probably doing as 
well as any in the following: 

“The shocking death of the Honorable Conrad 
Schney fills the community with grief and appre- 
hension and inexpressible indignation. The mere 
announcement is more solemnly impressive than any 
comments of ours could be. How a man of such 
singular purity and gentleness can rouse the hatred 
of anything human must remain always a mystery. 
If such a man, whose whole life has been an illus- 
tration of the possibilities of goodness in humanity 
can fall a victim to diabolical hatred, who of us is 
safe from the assassin’s knife? 

“We cannot refrain from expressing the hope 
that the cold-blooded miscreant who perpetrated 
the deed may have swift justice meted out to him. 

“In a future article we hope to do full justice to 
the distinguished life and services of our lamented 
friend. 

“In the meantime the vital interests of a great 
Commonwealth go unguarded — a prey to the first 
adventurer who discovers the absence of the great- 
hearted leader of her cohorts. 

“For the particulars of this terrible affair we re- 
fer our readers to our local column.” 




OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 145 


The opposition paper very briefly announced that 
“ Colonel Schney, the leader of our friends of the 
other side, well known on account of his wealth and 
his ability to win by fair means or foul, and who 
was recently nominated for gubernatorial honors in 
opposition to Judge Transient, has been murdered 
in bed at home. Requiescat , etc. 

“Particulars in telegraphic column.” 

While the police hunted for the murderer ar- 
rangements for the funeral were pushed forward 
with diligence until everything was complete. It 
was a great success. 

It was quite pleasant to be a pall-bearer, because, 
of course, only the most prominent men in the com- 
munity would do. For a long time afterwards if 
a man said “Brown,” and some one said “What 
Brown?” the answer would be, “Why, Brown, you 
know, who was pall-bearer for Honorable Conrad 
Schney.” The plumes on the hearse were tall and 
black, and nodded, so the papers said, with remarka- 
ble solemnity. Four white horses drew the hearse, 
stepping, neighing, and tossing their heads in perfect 
unison with all the other beautiful arrangements. 
In consideration of the passage of the procession the 
sun stopped behind a large bank of clouds and al- 
lowed the day to be singularly gloomy. 


146 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

The preacher did his part manfully in a sermon 
on national calamities and the lessons they ought to 
convey. 

When the funeral was all over almost everybody 
was convinced that there must have been some good 
reason for such a general demonstration, but no one 
man could be found who was willing to say that he 
knew what the reason was and that he was actuated 
by it when he followed the crowd. 

Though the Spatterer had expressed the fear that 
the Coloners death might result in some awful 
and unprecedented disaster to the Commonwealth, 
everything moved along with wonderful regularity. 

Within a week after the funeral, thanks to the 
kind heart and cool head of Curbing, Mina and her 
mother were in a hired house of their own, far away 
from the Stemmery and its horrible associations. 

Anybody could see by the pleased expressions on 
the faces of the police that the murderer was safely 
in jail, with a good case against him. Suspicion, 
arrest, and confinement had been followed by such 
an accumulation of evidence that the daily papers 
had tried and condemned and were ready to hang 
the man in their columns right away. They had 
all they wanted except the prisoner’s name. This 
they could not discover, and the prisoner quietly 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 147 


refused to divulge it. The reporters denounced him 
for keeping his mouth shut and refusing to assist 
them in their vigorous prosecution. Some of them 
would go down every day to see him, feed him, 
treat him to cigars, chat with him, shake hands with 
him, and be sociable generally, and the next day 
give the diameter of his neck, his weight, the proba- 
ble fall necessary to break his neck, and the chances 
of his choking to death, and wind up with a techni- 
cal description of the rope and the gallows. 

Some one unknown paid the keeper of a restau- 
rant to furnish the prisoner three abundant and 
luxurious meals every day. He ate them regularly, 
and three times a day said, Thank God ! Some one 
sent the prisoner clean underclothes of good quality 
and provided regularly for his washing. He had 
from the same mysterious source a clean bed and 
snow-white sheets. Flowers came to him, and 
books and papers, all evidently from the same per- 
son. A lawyer, experienced and able, whose large 
fee was already paid, visited him regularly. The 
only emotion the prisoner displayed was intense 
gratitude to his unknown friend. There was no 
remorse, no fear, no anger about him. And there 
was no curiosity and anxiety about his own fate. 
He was thoughtful, serene, reserved, and quiet. 


148 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

Soon after his arrest his counsel called on him, 
and being struck with his handsome and youthful 
face, questioned him in a very gentle and sympa- 
thetic way. 

“My son,” he said, “are you guilty of this 
crime ? ” 

“ Do you command me, as my counsel, to 
answer?” said the man. 

“No; you will answer or not, as you please.” 

“ Then I will not answer.” 

“ What is your name ? ” 

“ My name ? I will not reveal it as long as there 
is any chance for life.” 

“ You think you will be convicted ? ” 

“Yes — I — think — I am satisfied I will be.” 

“ Have you any friends ? ” 

“Not one — that is to say, none who will know 
that I am here or who will come to me.” 

“ Do you desire to see any one that you love ? ” 

“ Yes, I would give the world to see my mother, 
and I would kiss the feet of the man who sent me 
slean clothes and who feeds me.” 

“Is your mother living? Do you know where 
she is ? ” 

“If I did not know I would not be here. Yes, 
she is alive ! ” 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 149 

“ Would yon let me bring her to you?” 

u Not for my life. I would not have her or any 
friend to suffer with me for one moment or — see me 
here. I will bear this alone.” 

“How has your past life been? You do not 
talk like a hardened man or a wicked man.” 

“Ho, not wicked, but inwardly stormy. I have 
suffered, and have grown to be what I am under 
pain. I am as free from malice and vice as a child. 
I have no unkind feelings towards any one.” 

“ Do you appreciate the danger of your position — 
feel the — the — that your chances for escape are 
hardly worth considering ? I cannot encourage you 
to hope ; you must not expect too much from me.” 

“ I will never blame you. Indeed, I thank you 
now in advance for all you will do. The only help 
I need is a messenger who will carry my grateful 
thanks to those who have sent me comforts.” 

“Do you propose, in the event that you are con- 
victed, to explain yourself at all ? ” 

“ Possibly I may tell who I am, but no more. I 
must be satisfied with the judgment of the world. 
I understand it all, but cannot hope to be under- 
stood. In my own defense I will be silent. To say 
the only things I could say would be more painful 
than death.” 


150 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

When the prisoner was brought before the police 
court he got a pretty good idea of the intense feel- 
ing against him in the community. He had sense 
enough to see that the public had determined to 
prosecute him with vigor and dispatch. The police 
justice, who was a pompous ignoramus, decided 
legal points with an easy, off-hand facility which 
would have been amusing if the issue had not been 
of life or death. Besides being naturally intolerant 
and rather brutal, the justice felt that the dignity of 
the victim justified the roughest treatment of the 
prisoner which it was in his power to inflict. He 
conducted the examination with an ominous frown 
on his massive brow, keeping the corners of his 
mouth well drawn down, and succeeded, several 
times, in making the venerable counsel feel very 
much ashamed of himself and of the law. 

The prisoner’s counsel was glad when he escaped 
from the place, because, as he said, neither common 
sense or law had any show there. The prisoner 
remarked on his way back to jail that he might be 
hanged, but it was some consolation to know that 
he had been to the police court for the last time. 
He said he could stand his part of the outrage, but 
hated to see his old friend, the lawyer, so shamefully 
battered about by the insolent justice. 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 151 


The Spatterer, in its capacity of leading journal 
and general exponent of everybody’s views, was 
clearly of the opinion that a blood-thirsty villain 
like the prisoner ought to be tried promptly and 
hung as soon as convenient. It sent out reporters 
to look for second-hand gallows and to hunt up 
good rope; published expert comments on slip 
knots, traps, necessary drop, comparative chances 
for strangulation and broken neck, and even sug- 
gested the proper disposition of the body. It did 
not know exactly or positively, but it had no doubt 
that the prisoner’s past life had been one unbroken 
series of abominable crime. It was convinced that 
a man who could eat and sleep and look as serene 
as the prisoner did must be a heartless monstrosity. 

The Spatterer also held up daily for public admi- 
ration sketches of the life of the distinguished vic- 
tim, dwelling with irresistible pathos upon his un- 
precedented purity and gentleness, and telling, with 
every appearance of quiet truthfulness, of splendid 
deeds of charity now for the first time made public. 
But all these things were nothing compared with 
the fact that this man, so richly endowed, had spent 
a long life in unselfish service ot the people, forget- 
ful of everything but the public good. In fact, this 
murderer had just gone and, with one stroke of a 


1*52 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 


shoemaker’s knife, made the public a perfectly in- 
consolable and helpless orphan. The Spatterer 
thought that the trial ought to be, and would be, a 
mere form, to be followed by the satisfactory reality 
of a well-arranged hanging. 

Of course, with everything arranged beforehand, 
the trial was a simple afiair. The jury knew what 
they were expected to do. The witnesses were few, 
and their testimony brief and convincing. When 
the points of law made by counsel were difficult, and 
the judge did not know wliat to do, he adjourned 
the court until next day and asked somebody who 
did know. The next day he would decide with a 
promptness almost startling. 

The prisoner convinced every one who saw him, 
except those who were resolved to hang him, that 
he was a modest, rather gentle, quiet man. As he 
sat in court, as calm as the judge himself, his face 
was read by thousands who came and went. No 
one read anything there but deep sadness. His 
whole figure suggested lonesome helplessness. Of 
all the throng that pressed him, not one stretched a 
hand to help him; there was no eye that pitied him; 
not one word of sympathy fell upon his ear. Mur- 
derer though he was, there must have been some 
tonic in his heart which enabled it to beat on in the 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 153 


midst of almost brutal indifference. Excepting his 
counsel, he had not been approached by a single 
friend. Though be might deserve the penalty in. 
store for him, it is doubtful if he deserved this cruel 
isolation. The verdict was guilty. 

The trial fixed the crime upon the prisoner be- 
yond a doubt. His counsel abandoned the idea of 
appeal, and urged him to prepare at once for the 
final scene. 

When the prisoner was arraigned to receive sen- 
tence, and was asked if he had anything to say why 
sentence should not be pronounced, he turned to the 
crowd in the court-room and searched every face 
within reach of his vision, his countenance growing 
rapidly sadder and sadder. Having finished his 
survey, he turned again to the judge and said : “My 
heart is full of strange emotions — new and startling. 
I would, but cannot, express them. There is no 
language for what I feel. I think if I could lay 
my head, on my mother’s bosom she would inter- 
pret my tears. Ho other heart but hers is worthy 
or able to know my anguish now. I am done.” 

The prisoner disappeared, and was only of occa- 
sional interest until the fatal day arrived and launch- 
ed him into eternity. 

The Spatterer reluctantly published nine columns 
of the details. 


CHAPTER XI. 

Concluding with a Medley. 

The information which the public received from 
the time the prisoner was sentenced until his execu- 
tion was derived mainly from the columns of the 
Spatterer. The able reporters of that journal, feel- 
ing that they had arrested, tried, and convicted the 
prisoner, and would probably be compelled to keep 
the officials up to the duty of hanging him, paid 
regular visits to the jail, and did all in their power 
to keep the indignation of the public warmed up. 
They said that the prisoner’s assumption of gehtle 
manners was the most superb acting it had ever 
been their pleasure to study, and that his personal 
cleanliness, politeness, and serenity were only the 
cute tricks of villainy. One reporter stated posi- 
tively that he had seen him eating as naturally 
as the most innocent man in the community. 
Another member of the staff informed the public 
that he had tested the prisoner’s feelings by giving 
him a graphic description of the last bungling exe- 
cution in the jail, in which the man was cruelly 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 156 

strangled, and that at the conclusion the prisoner 
smiled . 

All of the reporters agreed that the prisoner had 
never shown a symptom of fear; that he had never 
asked a favor or courted the sympathy of a single 
human being. Nobody had noticed a word or a 
look that indicated the slightest interest in his own 
case. The reporters all omitted to say that the pris- 
oner had politely snubbed them every one, and that 
all their efforts to bully him and break down his 
self-respect had signally failed. 

The prisoner was repeatedly urged to prepare a 
statement for the press, but regularly declined, say- 
ing, by way of explanation, that the conduct of the 
reporters who had visited him demonstrated the 
fact that any statement he might make would be 
remorselessly used against him. 

It was evident that the prisoner had a thorough 
appreciation of the bitterness of the public, realized 
fully that he was abandoned, regarded his fate as 
fixed, and was waiting without impatience or weari- 
ness for the end. To the last he refrained from 
uttering a word of complaint or regret. 

As the day for the execution drew near the Spat- 
terer became more and more anxious to have a full 
confession from the murderer to lay before its read- 


156 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-ClTIZEN. 

ers. The editors and owners evidently felt that 
they owed it to their thousands of subscribers, and 
ought to have it if it could be obtained. After 
writing several very able editorials — intended to 
whet the appetite of the public — in which they set 
forth the great value of confessions in general, and 
of murderers 5 confessions in particular, they pre- 
pared one more, which was clearly intended to 
convince the prisoner that he owed it to the com- 
munity — now about to choke him to death — to vin- 
dicate their wisdom and justice by a full confession 
of his bloody crime. The editor thought it would 
be really mean for the man to allow himself to be 
hung without relieving the community of a certain 
feeling of uncertainty which oppressed it, and there- 
fore urged him to lay aside his morbid interest in 
his merely personal affairs, and write something 
really satisfactory for the columns of the Spatterer. 
In conclusion, the editor thought that after a little 
reflection the prisoner would see the reasonableness 
of their request. 

Finding that their appeals to the public spirit of 
the prisoner had no effect, and that he persisted in 
his selfish determination to remain silent, the Spat- 
terer flatly declared that it was done with him, and 
would print nothing from his pen except at full 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW CITIZEN. 157 

schedule rates. He was also informed by indirect 
remarks that his ingratitude to the press had con- 
vinced the people of his guilt as thoroughly as if he 
had written and signed his confession. 

According to the account of the Spatterer the 
execution was a very ordinary affair. The members 
of the staff* said they had tried very hard to feel 
some interest in the prisoner, but that he had been 
so distant and reserved, and had manifested such 
lack of confidence in the justice and fairness and 
consideration of the press, that they really found it 
unpleasant to write up the details. But for the fact 
that the condemned man had, at the last moment, 
revealed his name, and thus simply justified their 
vigorous prosecution of the case, they would have 
passed the matter by with a simple statement that 
the criminal had duly paid the penalty of his crime. 

After the black cap was drawn over his face the 
prisoner said : “ Is this the last moment?” 

“ Yes,” said the sheriff; “do you wish to say any- 
thing?” 

“ Only this,” replied the prisoner, “ and I beg you 
to note it well : “ My name is Filter, and you will 
find my mother at the almshouse.” 

In the evening his mother came down and wept 
over the body. As she was about to depart she 


158 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

took from her bosom, where it had been long con- 
cealed, her engagement ring. A diamond flashed 
upon it. Handing it to a gentleman standing by, 
she begged him to spend it upon the burial of her 
boy. The next day the ring was returned to her 
with a note to the effect that her boy had received 
decent burial at the hands of a friend, who would 
not forget the mother. 

The Spatterer, after a brief account of the execu- 
tion and of the insolent appearance of the aban- 
doned mother at the jail, proceeded to unravel the 
motives of the wretch who “ so cruelly murdered 
our late distinguished fellow-citizen, and had at last 
suffered the just penalty of the law.” 

“ The prisoner’s announcement of his name,” the 
Spatterer thought, “ was exceedingly fortunate, be- 
cause it relieved the whole affair of doubt and com- 
pletely cleared up the mystery. 

“Years ago, when Colonel Schney was a pros- 
perous merchant, and before he had entered upon 
his brilliant career as a statesman, he had lavished 
his means upon an unprincipled wretch by the name 
of Filter. All his friendly efforts were futile. In 
spite of almost princely aid from his noble benefac- 
tor, Filter sunk lower and lower until he was recog- 
nized as a worthless inebriate utterly beyond help. 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 159 

After he had exhausted the sympathy and wasted 
the lavish benefactions of Colonel Schney, Filter 
gradually conceived the idea that Schney had robbed 
and ruined him. His bitter denunciations of his 
disinterested friend sunk into the minds of his wife 
and children, and, it seems, produced terrible fruit. 

“Filter finally died in a drunken debauch, and 
his wife and children disappeared mysteriously from 
the community. We have since learned that the 
younger children died ; that the eldest went to sea, 
and that the mother, a bad woman, we are told, 
landed at last in the almshouse. 

“A day or two before the murder a man, now 
known to have been Filter, applied at the almshouse 
for information concerning the woman, Filter, and 
her children, and was informed of the death of the 
children. When asked if he desired to see Mrs. 
Filter he replied that he might call again, later, to 
see her, but was then too busy to stop. 

“ The man’s life, the facts developed during the 
trial, and all that we have learned since the execu- 
tion — everything — points to the conclusion that Fil- 
ter, when he cut the throat of our amiable and 
worthy friend, thought he was avenging his father’s 
ruin, the death of his little brother and sister, and 


160 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 

the long years of poverty and humiliation and suf- 
fering which his mother had endured. 

“ How mysterious are the ways of that Providence 
which permits the progeny of vice to live to gather 
strength and venom sufficient to slay matured wis- 
dom while it snatches a few moments of rest from 
unselfish labor ! 

“ Young Filter, returning from his aimless wan- 
derings, learns of his mother’s distress and of the 
death of her children. Prepared probably by a pre- 
vious course of vice, he resolves upon the death of 
his father’s best friend, and almost immediately pro- 
ceeds to the execution of his resolve. 

“The public has learned from our ‘columns how 
well he did the ghastly work.” 

While the trial was progressing the circulation of 
the Spatterer was immense, and when the excite- 
ment subsided the proprietors found that they had 
secured, as a net result, nineteen new subscribers. 

Curbing got so tired of the paper and what it 
said about him and his wife and his fortune, and 
“the distinguished career of our late friend,” that 
he got Tinkle to buy the plant and good-will, sold 
the plant to a junk-shop, burnt up the good-will, 
and had afterwards a few months’ rest. 

It was not long before everybody found out that 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 161 


Curbing, though not quite as wealthy as his wife, 
had a handsome fortune of his own, and that many 
of his peculiarities, which had been regarded as 
ridiculous eccentricities, were simply the natural 
manner of a man who consulted his own pleasure 
and comfort, with utter indifference to the opinions 
of a public of which he was entirely independent. 

After the incineration of the Spatterer very little 
was said about the deceased Colonel, but the re- 
maining papers did their best to keep Curbing and 
his wife before the public. They called attention to 
the fact that Mr. Curbing, though abundantly able 
to conduct a handsome establishment, was still 
residing in a small rented house, and that he was 
conducting himself in a quiet, gentlemanly way 
quite surprising. They mentioned the fact that his 
wife w r as extremely modest and unassuming; that 
she was beautiful and wealthy and accomplished; 
that she was charitable and pious, and, to all ap- 
pearances, happy. All of these things about Mina, 
and some few things about Curbing, they repeated 
until they began to realize that it was simply ridicu- 
lous. They tried every way to find something new 
to say, but Curbing was too smart for them. He 
and his wife managed almost without an effort to 
do nothing remarkable enough to excuse a mention 


162 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 


of it in the papers. Curbing actually paid one or 
two of the “ personal ” reporters to let him alone. 
This he did purely for the benefit of his friends, 
because he never read the local papers except by 
accident. 

Fortunately there were some things which the 
reporters never discovered which would have made 
good items, and would have proved that Curbing 
was still going right along doing what he consid- 
ered to be the right thing to do without consulting 
the press. 

Curbing was leading and Mina was following 
with all . her heart. They had so simplified the 
ordinarily cumbrous arrangements of home that 
they were free to go and come as fancy suggested, 
and to devote as much time as they pleased to con- 
genial employments. They had one secret. They 
had agreed that their joint wealth should be at the 
instant disposal of each, without question or ac- 
count. Not a word passed between them by way 
of explanation, but they understood each other per- 
fectly. Every dollar they had was pledged to cure, 
as far as possible, any pain or sorrow which could 
be traced to a source in Schney’s old business. 


CHAPTER XII. 

In Which We Part. 

Mr. and Mrs. Curbing had their own ideas ot 
comfort. Three times each day a man servant ap- 
peared and placed a simple meal on the table. 
When the meal was finished every trace of it dis- 
appeared. One servant woman kept the house in 
order. Hobody went to market or the grocer’s. 
The caterer who supplied the table understood that 
he was to be paid handsomely, and was expected to 
provide elegantly. Curbing wanted time to read, 
time for music, and time to think. Mina wanted 
time to pet and console her mother and run around 
with her husband. Both of them wanted time to 
spend money on all sorts of people. They had no 
time to keep house. 

Mr. Curbing always confessed that he was not a 
practical man, and had no desire to be one. With 
the cheerful consent of his wife and her mother, he 
placed his fortune and hers in the hands of a good 
trust company, and never bothered himself further 
than to check for what he wanted. His wife also 


164 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW CITIZEN. 

learned to draw checks. They literally paid their 
way over or around all ordinary annoyances of life 
for the higher pleasures of mind and heart. 

The old lady gave the Stemmery mansion to the 
trustees of “ The Home for Crippled Children,” and 
Mina and Curbing endowed the home handsomely. 
It was soon occupied by a throng of frail orphans of 
both sexes, all deformed or mutilated, and all as 
happy as love and bounty could make them. 

Mrs. Filter was there charged with the duty of 
loving the children as much like a mother as possi- 
ble. This was all that she was expected to do. She 
had a separate endowment. Whenever Curbing 
saw the diamond he was tempted to tell her that he 
saved it for her, but he never spoke of it. 

When Curbing first proposed to Mina to feed the 
prisoner and send him clothing she was surprised, 
but soon recognized the suggestion as perfectly in 
keeping with her husband’s character, and finally 
became his active partner in the work. She added 
books and flowers and snow-white bedding. When 
she was told that young Filter was the murderer 
Bhe fell upon her husband’s neck and thanked him 
again and again for having suggested a simple char- 
ity which, she said, would make her happier than 
she had ever hoped to be. This pleased Curbing, 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 165 

and induced him to confess that he employed and 
paid the counsel for the defense. A long time 
afterwards he told Mina that he recognized Filter 
soon after his arrest, and, being convinced of his 
motive, determined at once to defend him and to 
look after his comfort in jail, because he knew that 
when all was known it would be a comfort to her. 
He said he had even then no doubt of the prisoner’s 
guilt, and no idea that he could escape from the 
penalty. 

Mina was the only human being he ever told 
about his visit to the jail to rescue the body from 
the anatomy students of the college. When he told 
of his good fortune in receiving the ring, and the 
pleasure he had in restoring it to Mrs. Filter, Mina 
was ready to fall on her knees in tearful worship. 

From this hour Mina’s life was an unending suc- 
cession of happy scenes, thrown up into captivating 
beauty by the soft background of all her old sor- 
rows. Curbing was the light of her life. 

There was one room in Mr. Curbing’s house 
which would make a stranger suspect that the 
owner was a dealer in musical instruments. But 
nothing there was for sale. Every battered thing 
was an old relic dear to the master and the mistress 
of the house. Curbing was peculiar in this, that he 


166 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 


would not, for any consideration, sell an old friend 
even in the shape of a guitar that was warped, or a 
violin crushed and voiceless. That room was Pro- 
fessor Snuff’s nearest approach, in life, to heaven. 
Curbing spent large sums of money on surgeons 
and on appliances, and held not his hand until the 
Professor was furnished with a new aluminum spine 
which, in conjunction with sundry straps and de- 
vices, actually enabled the old gentleman to sit up, 
and even to ride in Curbing’s carriage to Curbing’s 
house and sit at Curbing’s table and eat Curbing’s 
fine fare. When he was the guest Mina was the 
maid who danced attendance. Curbing was the 
happy butler and man of all work. The Professor 
was himself again. Did that trio make any music? 
Listen ! and you may hear it now. 

There was another room which Curbing called 
“the chapel.” It was Mina’s. Those who were 
permitted to see it said it was pure and sweet and 
simple. Curbing never entered it without assuming 
the attitude and manner of a guest who knew the 
importance of conducting himself modestly and 
appreciated the delicate hospitality of the place. 
And yet it was just there that he was altogether at 
home. 

There was still another room, the largest of all, 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 167 

which was absolutely the property of Mr. Curb- 
ing. In it disorder reigned. There were boxes of 
smoking tobacco almost everywhere. Seated in any 
chair in the room a visitor could easily reach a pipe 
and tobacco or pick up several varieties of cigars. 
Match boxes of every size and shape were as plen- 
tiful as if the business of life was mainly to light 
pipes. To secure himself against having to hunt 
for a match, Mr. Curbing kept a small gas jet 
burning, and near by it a Japanese jar of orange- 
wood ribbons. There were chairs in the room made 
evidently to sit in. They were ingeniously designed 
and well constructed, and a solace and surprise to 
those who, for the first time, tested their ability to 
rest the human frame. Books were there, of 
course, and tempting magazines with the leaves 
uncut. Pictures of small cost, in all sorts of odd 
frames, were hung up and laid about everywhere. 
They had merit or meaning. Whenever Mr. Curb- 
ing began to feel that he was certainly married, and 
that Mina was no longer his sweetheart only, but 
his wife forever, he would go to this room and 
spend an hour or two trying to feel uncertain about 
it. While there he would laugh right out, a thing 
he rarely ever did, and examine all his broken 
pipes with evident interest and curiosity. Knowing 


168 OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 


that nobody was watching him he walked from 
picture to picture and gazed at each one until he 
was satisfied. After assuring himself that several 
old books that he loved were still there, and that 
nobody had disturbed anything since his last visit, 
he would close the door and rejoin his wife with an 
air of embarrassment which she always understood. 
He was always afraid that she might ask him if he 
had been to his room, and that he would have to 
confess. But Mina was no fool; she was too happy 
to be a fool. 

Mrs. Schney slowly faded away, and died saying, 
“ Thank you, my dear.” 

Judge Transient gained an easy victory over 
Estimate, who was nominated in place of Schney, 
and the State fell into the hands of her worst foes. 

All the dangerous elements of the voting popula- 
tion which had made Colonel Schney a possibility 
and his candidacy a necessity, went over to the 
opposition and did all they could to bring on what 
now seemed to be irretrievable ruin. 

This overwhelming calamity revived the memory 
of the Colonel, and caused many a disappointed 
politician to curse the name of Filter. They all 
declared that if Schney had lived the result would 
have been reversed. 


OUR DISTINGUISHED FELLOW-CITIZEN. 169 


On the same principle it might be said that if 
young Filter, the murderer, had died when the 
other children starved, the result might have been 
different. Or, to go back further still, if the elder 
Filter had not wasted his fortune, and had not died 
a drunkard, but had lived to provide for his wife 
and children, that would have changed the result. 

Every misfortune has deep roots well buried in 
the past. The bitter fruit of to-day comes from a 
seed long since planted, perhaps by the hand of 
some one dead and forgotten. Evil needs no culti- 
vation. Good and evil mixed is pure evil. Virtue 
never compromises; if it does, it is no longer virtue, 
but vice. The science of compromise is the devil’s 
specialty. 

Schney cut his own throat, his party defeated 
itself, and — ruined a Commonwealth. 

They call the baby Pauline. 


FINIS. 


J. L. Hill Printing Go. 


Publishers, 

Printers, 

Engravers, 

Lithographers. 


Publishers of John W. Daniel’s Oration on the 

“LIFE, SERVICES, AND CHARACTER OF JEF- 
FERSON DAVIS.” 

PRICE: 25 CENTS. 

Special terms to agents. 


Nos. 9, 11, 13 N. Twelfth Street, 

Richmond, Va. 


SOLDIER LIFE 

IN THE 

Army of NorthernVirginia, 

C. S. JL. 

By CARLTON MCCARTHY, 

Private 2d Co. Richmond Howitzers. 

% 

Illustrated by W. L. SHEPPARD, Lieut. Richmond Howitzers. 

Contents. — Chap. I. A Voice from the Ranks. Chap. II. 
The Outfit Modified. Chap. III. Romantic Ideas Dissipated. 
Chap. IV. On the March. Chap. V. Cooking and Eating. 
Chap. VI. Comforts, Conveniences, and Consolation. Chap. 
VII. Fun and Fury on the Field of Battle. Chap. VIII. Impro- 
vised Infantry. Chap. IX. “Brave Survivors” Homeward 
Bound. Chap. X. Soldiers Transformed. Chap. XI. Camp- 
Fires of the Boys in Gray. Chap. XII. The Battle-Flag. 

12mo, 250 pages, on handsome paper, printed and bound in 
the best manner, with 12 full-page and 18 smaller illustrations, 
including Confederate Battle-Flag in colors and gold. 

Mr. Sheppard, who illustrates the book, now ranks as one of the first illus- 
trators in this country, and, having served in the Confederate army, is thor- 
oughly competent to make faithful and characteristic sketches of Confederate 
soldier life. 

Cloth , stamped in gold and colors, $1.50. 

“ The descriptions of the march, the bivouac, the battle, the customs of the 
service, the trials, pleasures oddities, and routine of a military career as it 
looks to the men in the ranks, are fresh and vivid, and the narrative passages 
are full of spirit. Notwithstanding that so much has been written about the 
war. Private McCarthy seems to have given us something new.”— New York 
Daily Tribune , Nov. 12. 

“ In fact, we wouldn’t be surprised if it should prove to be as popular as has 
any book treating of the war or its incidents. North and South the private 
soldiers will read it with delight, and the officers will enjoy it, too.”— Rich- 
mond Daily Dispatch , leading paper in Virginia. 

J. W. RANDOLPH & ENGLISH, Richmond, Va, 

N. B. — Having secured control of the “ Soldier Life in the A. N. V.," we 
offer it to the trade at a liberal discount. 







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